by Ros Baxter
‘They’re dead, aren’t they?’ His throat burned as he said the words.
Nelly nodded against his chest. He was already more than a head taller than her.
‘How?’
Nelly stepped back. ‘Come home, hon. We can talk about it there.’
‘No.’ Brodie’s muscles set in stone. He knew. He had watched for the last year, as things had become harder and harder. He had seen his father sliding deeper into the maw of something he didn’t understand. He had seen the faraway look in his father’s eyes, and the slowing down in his movements. It had been like he was gone already. ‘Tell me.’
Nelly took a breath. ‘Your father had some kind of … accident. Your mum was driving him to the hospital when she lost control of the car.’
Even as she said the words Brodie knew it was no accident. He knew, however it had gone down, that it was this land that had killed them, the bitterness of their debts and disappointments. He thought about his mother—so small and pretty, her neat, white hands and her bubbling laugh. And his father—tall and shy and dark, hands always dirty, face always worried. Even as the pain crashed on him, and the tears that he had worried he wouldn’t be able to find wet his cheeks, he made them a promise.
I will not be broken by this place.
***
Leaving Sweet Pocket had been about outrunning the ghost of his parents.
He groaned as he thought about what a dickhead he had been last night, wallowing in his own disappointments and miseries when he needed to man up and fix the problem.
Nelly clearly thought so too, because as soon as the little clock on his bedside table clicked over to six am she kicked his door open and stood there with a mega-mug of coffee. ‘Get up,’ she barked. ‘We’ve got shit to talk about; you’ve got shit to fix.’
Brodie rolled out of bed, realising he was still wearing his jeans, and staggered over to Nelly, taking the coffee from her.
She waved a hand under her nose. ‘You smell like a brewery,’ she snapped. ‘Go have a shower before you come near my kitchen.’
‘Soon,’ he grunted, swallowing hot coffee and relishing the hit as it connected with his bloodstream. ‘First I’ve got to make a call.’
Nelly looked dubiously at the little clock. ‘At six am?’
‘Lawyers never sleep.’ He grinned, shooing her back through the door and closing it.
She grinned at him as she turned to leave. ‘Good boy,’ she barked.
He sat down on the bed and reached for his cell, punching in the familiar number. ‘Max,’ he said blearily. ‘I’ve got a problem I need you to help me fix, and I don’t care what it costs.’ He knew there was nothing like a blank cheque to move a lawyer from fast asleep to ready-for-anything in two seconds flat.
He listened for a moment as his lawyer made waking-up noises and then fired off a couple of questions. Brodie responded, ‘Organic certification. Excision from boundaries.’
Max made the kind of noises that always made Brodie sure he could fix any problem he was thrown. He smiled. ‘Have I ever told you how much I love you, mate?’
The old lawyer rang off with promises to call back by noon.
The next call was to the certifiers. Brodie dragged in a breath. He was going to need to call in every favour he was owed for this one.
***
Brodie looked neat and clean standing on her step, no sign of the grief and abandon of the night before. He was wearing dark blue jeans and a red-checked shirt, with his old brown boots wiped clean of the mud she had seen there the last time he had worn them. He was clean-shaven and carried a tray of muffins.
‘We need to talk,’ he said, grey eyes dark and serious.
‘Come in,’ Gen said, stepping back to let him through to the kitchen. Watching him walk ahead of her, the impact of him was terrifying. The familiar swagger, the length of his back, the small square of brown neck revealed between collar and hairline. He was so imprinted on her it was all she could do not to knock him to the ground and reclaim him.
But she couldn’t.
He was going. And he clearly had other interests. Of the blonde variety.
‘Tea?’ Gen took the muffins and transferred them to a Tupperware container. ‘Tell Nelly thanks; they smell divine.’ She knew she sounded cold, but she also knew the frostiness in her voice was nothing on the coldness in her heart. It was irrational, but she wanted to hurt him, the way it had hurt her to watch him with Anne-Marie, to hear that he had plans he had never mentioned to her. Plans that involved another continent and an ocean between them.
‘She told me about Sarah.’
Gen fussed with the muffins, not wanting to turn around and see the pity in his face.
‘You should have told me.’ His voice was deep and calm, but she wondered if he was angry. ‘I could have handled it.’
She turned, finally, and he was leaning against the kitchen table, taking up all the room and searching her face. ‘I didn’t know what there was to handle, then,’ she said. ‘Not exactly. But it’s all water under the bridge now. Life moves on. It doesn’t make any difference.’
‘Of course it does,’ he snapped, moving close to her and grabbing her shoulders. ‘It makes all the difference in the world. There’s all the difference in the world between you not wanting me, wanting this place more, and you just doing something you had to do.’
‘It’s not like that,’ Gen said. ‘I’m not some martyr.’ It was delicate, hard to explain. Even as hard as it had been with Sarah, she would do it all again. Every moment she’d had with her mother, that her children had been able to have with Sarah, had been precious.
‘I get that,’ he said, stepping back a little. ‘But I want to help. I can help.’
‘I’m fine, thank you,’ she said, thinking about him nuzzling into Anne-Marie the night before.
He looked confused. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Which particular thing?’ she snapped. ‘Certification falling over? The Spring Fair being a little over a week away?’
‘I think I can fix it,’ Brodie said, a slow smile creeping over his face. ‘I’ve been investigating. We might be able to excise The Dirty Dozen on a mercantile exception.’ He frowned a little. ‘The trick will be getting the certifiers back out here in time for the fair, but we can give it a good tilt.’
‘That’s great,’ Gen said. She meant it, but the rest of it still weighed heavily on her as she spoke. Maybe it could all work out, but somehow, her heart had gotten used to the idea that Brodie was around, that they were making careful moves towards each other, and after last night she now knew it wasn’t true.
Brodie stepped back away from her, leaning on the table again. ‘What is it?’
Gen shook her head, not wanting to say the words. ‘I saw you, last night,’ she whispered. ‘I came to find you, and I saw you with Anne-Marie.’
‘That was noth—’
Gen cut him off. ‘She talked to me. She told me about the US, the house in LA, the expansion. Your business is going global, Brodie.’ She motioned around at her kitchen. ‘And as you can see, I am very much local. Nothing could ever work between us, even leaving aside our history.’
He opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by an assault from two small bodies hurling themselves at him. ‘Brodie!’ Will bellowed.
‘Do I smell muffins?’ Bea squealed.
‘You sure do,’ Gen said, opening the container. ‘Courtesy of Mrs Brown.’ She turned to Brodie. ‘Sorry, I have to get them to school.’
The children moaned piteously, both at being denied Brodie-time and at the mention of school. Gen saw in Brodie’s eyes that he got the message.
‘Okay then,’ he said, giving them both a high five. ‘I’d better be hitting the road.’ He looked hard at Gen. ‘I’ll keep you posted on how we go with certification.’
Chapter Twelve
Showtime
One week later
Twelve men and two women sat around the table. Buddy Thompson presided lik
e the whole thing had been his idea, as the papers were passed around for everyone to sign. The only stranger was the fifty-something guy in the sharp suit who shuffled papers and provided succinct explanations when required.
When everyone had signed, the room seemed to release a collectively held breath.
‘We’ve done it,’ Buddy declared, grinning at everyone except Gen and Brodie, who sat at opposite ends of the table. ‘The Sweet Pocket Cooperative is a done deal. We’ll start the hard work of scoping out production space and initial targets next week.’
Nelly began to clap, and then everyone joined in. Gen felt, if not happy, at least a little lifting in the cloud of misery that had descended on her a week ago. She sneaked a glance at Brodie, who smiled grimly at his end of the table.
‘Meeting adjourned,’ Thompson declared. ‘See you all bright and early for the fair set-up. Everyone clear on their jobs?’
Everyone murmured agreement and nodded, and the meeting began to disperse.
Gen dashed for the door, eager to avoid any more of the awkward interactions she and Brodie had suffered through during the week. As she pressed through, Mrs Sticklen was waiting on the other side.
‘I’m so glad I’ve caught you, Gen,’ she declared. ‘I have something very important to discuss with you.’
Gen’s mind raced. What could have gone wrong? She had been hurling herself with even more gusto than usual into the fair preparations over the last week, and not only because the rubber was starting to hit the road. It had been a welcome distraction from thinking about Brodie—Brodie and Anne-Marie, Brodie leaving, Brodie in the US. ‘What’s up?’
‘Nothing,’ Mrs Sticklen assured her, beaming. ‘The plans are all in place. I just want to make sure you and Brodie are all ready to be the Spring Fair King and Queen tomorrow night?’
‘What?’ The hairs on Gen’s arms all stood on end. ‘No way.’
‘No way what?’ Brodie was suddenly standing between them, eyeing them both with open curiosity.
‘Well, it only makes sense, of course,’ Mrs Sticklen huffed, pulling herself up to bossy-teacher height. ‘You two are the reason this whole thing has worked, and the town will expect it. Who else would be Spring Fair King and Queen? It will be the crowning moment of the whole event.’ She smiled a little. ‘No pun intended of course.’
Brodie snaked an arm around Gen’s waist. ‘Of course.’ He beamed. ‘Logical. We’re totally up for it, aren’t we, Gen? Anything for Sweetiepie.’
‘What about Melva?’ Gen was grasping at straws. ‘You’re going to the dance with her.’
‘Melva will understand,’ Brodie said, appealing to Mrs Sticklen for support.
‘No, I, I …’ Gen searched for a reason to explain why she was so not up for it, but Brodie was looking at her with those smoky grey eyes, and Mrs Sticklen was burning into her with a take-no-prisoners primary school teacher gaze, and she was flustered. ‘Sure,’ she said, finally.
‘You’ll be perfect.’ Mrs Sticklen beamed. She waggled a finger at Gen. ‘Be sure to wear something pretty!’
***
As the school choir finished up with ‘All Creatures Great and Small’, Gen smoothed down her dress, took a deep breath and tried to decide if it constituted ‘something pretty’. The day had been a stunning success. The parade had gone off without a hitch. The agricultural exhibits had been impressive. The food stalls had showcased all the best of the region, and the children had been sweet and cherubic through a series of plays, songs and exhibits. The Historical Society had even managed an impressive exhibition of the history of the region. All in all, the whole picture had been of a sweet, sleepy hollow where good food and good times went hand in hand.
Everyone had had a blast, and, through it all, Gen had nursed the secret that only a few of them knew, and watched hopefully as Sunshine Wholefoods and other buyers had circulated like hungry wolves. Of course, she had also seen Davina doing the rounds and chatting like the Queen of the World with local farmers, but she had tried not to let it get to her. Everything would be made clear soon enough.
She waited behind the stage as Mrs Sticklen had instructed her and wondered if the simple green prom-style dress was too silly for the occasion. Spring Fair King and Queen were traditionally seniors at the school, and a big deal was expected.
‘You look beautiful.’ Brodie’s voice behind her made Gen blush as she turned.
‘Thanks,’ she said, taking him in wearing the slick black tux. He was tall and broad and handsome beyond reason. ‘Where’s the hat?’
‘Nelly’s,’ he said, smiling at her with that blinding white smile that made her blink like a meerkat. But as she looked closer, she could see that something in him was off. He looked tired, with sad, dark circles under his eyes, and his face was paler than usual.
‘Are you okay?’ She stepped closer.
‘Yeah.’ He rubbed his hand across his face. ‘Not sleeping much this week.’
She waited but didn’t ask. He would decide if he wanted to talk about it.
‘It’s Nelly,’ he said finally, shrugging. ‘Wanting me to take on the farm.’ He paused. ‘She doesn’t understand; I can’t be them. I can barely even think about them.’
‘Mmm.’ Gen’s heart swelled with concern for him. ‘I guess you don’t have to be.’ She considered all the things she knew about him and his current position. ‘Your situation is very different than theirs was. You could take it on, but have someone manage it. Things don’t have to be the way they were.’
‘What if I want them to be?’ Brodie moved closer to her and put his hands on her upper arms. The dress had thin straps, so her arms were bare. ‘What if sometimes I want everything exactly as it once was, so badly it makes my brain hurt?’
‘Sometimes?’ Gen stared at his lips, willing him to kiss her.
‘All the fucking time,’ he snapped, pulling her in close and pressing his lips against hers. The kiss started hard but slow, as if he was branding her with his lips. It sent sweet tingles of desire skimming down her back and snaking around into her belly. She relaxed against him like a sigh given human form, and as she did, he deepened the kiss, parting her lips with his tongue and pressing into her mouth. ‘My God,’ he whispered against her lips as he drew back. ‘You taste exactly the same.’
‘So do you,’ Gen marvelled, touching her lips in astonishment. ‘But …’ She shook her head and tried hard to remind herself of the things she had been thinking about all week. Anne-Marie. The US. The things Brodie needed to do. The things he needed to be. The places he needed to go.
He held up a finger to her lips. ‘Just listen, Gen.’ He pointed in the direction of the stage. ‘I want you. I love you. I never, ever stopped. I tried to get over you, tried to get you out of my head, but I never could. You’re the start and end of me.’
‘But what about Anne-Marie?’
Brodie frowned and then laughed. ‘There is no Anne-Marie.’
‘I saw you.’ Gen’s senses were so addled from the kiss she wondered if she had imagined it, but she had relived that moment enough times over the last week to know it had been real.
‘Whatever you saw, I have never been with that woman. I have never even kissed that woman. And I have absolutely no desire for that woman. In fact—’ he pulled her close in to him again, ‘—when I am around you, I find it hard to understand how any man on earth has any desire for any other woman on earth. Ever.’
She heard the truth of it and she knew how it felt.
She tried to pull away but he held her close. ‘You’re going. To the States.’
‘No,’ he protested. ‘I’m doing business there. I’m not going away from you ever again.’ He looked at her hard. ‘Not unless you make me.’
She tried hard to hold on to all the reasons she had to say no. ‘I need to be here.’
‘I understand that,’ he said. ‘I can do stuff from here. I need to be in Sydney sometimes, and I need to travel, domestically and now maybe internationally sometimes.
But Gen.’ He touched her face. ‘We can work it out. I swear to you that we can work it out.’ He paused. ‘If you want to.’
Gen’s tummy turned weak and watery at the realisation that he was really here, really standing in front of her, really saying this. He didn’t blame her; he didn’t hate her. He wanted her. He loved her. All the years that she had tried to push away the memories of him dissolved away.
‘I want to,’ she whispered. ‘Oh, I really want to.’
Suddenly Mrs Sticklen was upon them, shooing them up onto the stage and into their thrones. Gen sat there in her party dress, and looked over at Brodie in the throne beside her. She felt the way he had always made her feel—like a queen, like his queen. She could hardly believe the way things had happened. She needed to pinch herself to check it was all real.
Then he smiled at her and she knew it was. Those smoky eyes bored into hers, telling her she was his and he was hers and they would never be apart again.
Gen waited for the crown to descend but was interrupted by the honey tones of Buddy Thompson, who was playing compere for the evening. ‘Well now, folks,’ he said as the applause died down. ‘Aren’t they just lovely?’ His voice carried the slightest hint of fuck-you, which Gen was sure would be undetectable to anyone except the two of them. ‘And they’ve received this honour tonight because of their hard work in bringing us this town fair, and all the things that lay behind it. But ….’ Buddy’s voice said that’s not all folks. ‘Before we crown them, I have another announcement to make.’
The crowd grew silent and Brodie looked over at Gen and winked.
‘Tonight it is my honour and pleasure to announce that Sweet Pocket has this very day been awarded organic certification!’
Everyone in the audience understood what it meant, the avenues it opened to them. The applause filled the old hall and bounced off the roof.
Buddy held up his hand and called for quiet. ‘But wait, there’s more,’ he declared. ‘I am also thrilled to announce that the newly signed Sweet Pocket Cooperative has today signed a production deal with Sunshine Wholefoods.’
