The Country Girl

by Cathryn Hein

  ‘Have another. Go on, you may as well clear the tray.’

  ‘Will there be more?’ asked Baz, looking worried.

  ‘Course there will, Pa-Star. Can’t have my number-one garden expert fading away.’ She smiled at Patrick. ‘Or anyone else.’

  With the tray empty, Tash checked they were okay for drinks and skipped off, pausing as she went to make sure everyone was having fun, before disappearing back to her kitchen.

  Patrick watched her the entire time, his gaze switching between her face and body, and lingering on her shapely breasts and hips.

  ‘Good sort our Tash,’ said Baz, voice low. Patrick’s parents had turned to talk to the McDayles. ‘Be nice if she could find a good fella. One who’ll treat her right. Maybe one of your mates?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Might ask about myself.’

  ‘Not a lot of point if she’s not planning to hang around.’

  ‘Don’t you worry about that. Flossie’ll hang, you’ll see.’

  Patrick remembered the way Tash had reacted to Ceci when she’d mentioned staying on. Her response had been unequivocal. Tash’s business was city-based. This was simply a marketing exercise to broaden her appeal. She’d probably return for weekends and holidays but her life was elsewhere, away from her family. Away from him.

  He took another slug of beer and was surprised to find his stubbie almost empty. Jesus. He needed to slow down.

  Thom ringing a spoon loudly against a bottle brought everyone to attention. Tash stood near the table, her hands clasped in front of her. As she began to speak, Thom stepped aside to film.

  ‘Thank you all so much for coming. It’s an honour and a delight to host you at Castlereagh. You may not have noticed, but many of the treats you’ve tried tonight were made from locally sourced ingredients, either commercially produced or grown by our district’s talented and enthusiastic gardeners. Those sausage rolls? That was lamb from Runnymeade.’ She indicated Malcolm and Ellie Duffy, a local couple making a name for themselves growing large-framed Wiltshire Horns for the fat lamb market. ‘The pork rillettes are thanks to Tony.’ She pointed to Tony Leonardis. ‘Just about every fruit and vegetable used, along with the eggs, were from my grandfather’s garden.

  ‘I love this place and I’m proud of the world-class produce that’s grown here. My goal over the coming months is to showcase as much of that produce as I can, along with the natural clean beauty of our district and its generous, hard-working population. Emu Springs is special and very, very dear to me, and I want the world to know its treasures. It’s been hidden too long.

  ‘In closing, I’d like to say a sincere thanks to my parents, Peter and Liz, without whom The Urban Ranger Goes Country could never be possible. Also to my Pa, Baz, now enjoying a second career as an internet star, and to my good friends from Melbourne, Ceci and Thom, whose visit provided the perfect excuse for a party, and who worked with me to set this up. A quick round of applause if you please.’

  When the clapping had ended Tash smiled. ‘Thank you. Now, hang in there because it’s time for dessert.’

  More applause, a few cheers and a piercing wolf-whistle from Clip followed. Laughing, Tash held her skirt and curtsied before heading inside, returning almost immediately with a tray of tiny pavlovas flavoured with lemon myrtle and wattle seed. They were followed by sugary little tartlets filled with cream and topped with berries, mini Nutella cheesecakes, and three different kinds of truffles. Ceci joked loudly that Castlereagh sounded more like a swinger’s club with all the pleasure-induced moans.

  The night drifted. Coffee was offered along with shots of Tash’s homemade chocolate cream liqueur. Gradually, people began to leave, sharing hugs and kisses with Tash, and wearing smiles from a night well enjoyed.

  ‘We might head too,’ said Patrick’s mum. ‘Do you want to come with us?’

  The sensible thing to do was to accept the offer. ‘I might stay for a while. Clip looks like he’s not moving yet.’

  He went to join his friend who, thanks to Bec being designated driver, had downed more than his fair share of beers.

  ‘All right, mate?’ said Clip, handing him a fresh beer from the esky he’d conveniently parked himself next to.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Bloody fantastic tucker.’

  ‘It was.’

  ‘Plenty of beer too. She’s a top bird, Tash. Knows how to throw a party.’ He eyed the yard with approval. ‘This is what we need for the wedding. Backyard, beers, good tucker, maybe a band. Couple of fire drums.’ Clip nodded to himself. ‘Bloke’d be happy with that.’

  ‘A bloke’s wife wouldn’t,’ said Bec returning from a loo visit and bunting her shoulder against Clip’s. ‘It’d be just our luck it’d rain and we’ve already booked the golf club. Although how we’re going to fit everyone in is anyone’s guess. Between Clip’s mum and mine, the guest list is out of control.’

  ‘See, Pat? Weddings are all about the women. Us blokes never get a look-in.’

  More good-natured grumbling followed, before the conversation moved on to the upcoming football season and training. They managed to sneak in another beer each before Bec called it quits.

  ‘Come on, you great oaf,’ she said, pushing Clip gently in the back.

  Clip jerked his head at her. ‘Look at that, will ya? Not even married yet and she’s ordering me around.’

  ‘Just getting you used to it.’

  Clip grinned and planted a loud kiss on her cheek. ‘Love her though.’

  ‘Come on!’

  Patrick smiled as Clip wobbled off, one hand on Bec’s shoulder to keep himself steady. Their wedding was going to be huge, the buck’s night even bigger.

  Clip had asked Patrick to be best man but he’d turned him down. Their good mate Angus would do a decent job, and the night when Maddy was found was too raw and probably always would be. Patrick had been on a buck’s trip then. A bunch of country blokes let loose in Melbourne. After God knows how many beers in God knows how many pubs they’d ended up in some sleazy strip joint, and all the while Maddy had been fighting for her life. By the time Patrick staggered back to his hotel room and discovered his phone almost dead from the weight of the messages it carried, Maddy had already been air-lifted to Melbourne. He was still drunk when he turned up at the hospital. Drunk and sick and bearing shame he would carry for a long, long time.

  Clip had understood. He’d expected Patrick’s answer but it was decent of the man that he’d even asked. That he wanted Patrick to know he thought him a good enough friend to be his best man, despite the way Patrick had been recently.

  With Clip and Bec gone Patrick was the only remaining guest. He should leave too but the only way home was to walk or drive and he’d definitely had too many full-strength beers to risk the latter.

  ‘You’re still here,’ said Ceci. ‘How about that.’

  ‘Yeah. How about it.’

  ‘Another beer?’

  ‘Probably shouldn’t.’

  ‘Probably should.’ She winked and wandered past the speakers, cranking the music up. Minutes later she was back with Patrick’s beer and her own glass brimming with white wine. She took a gulp and swayed, and Patrick realised she was plastered. ‘Tash’s parties always go late. She likes to dance.’

  Patrick remembered the day he’d spotted her dancing in the garden with Khan. ‘Not my thing.’

  ‘Perhaps you should make it yours.’ She eyed him sideways. ‘Thom always dances with her.’

  He gave a ‘who cares?’ shrug.

  She swayed closer, winking ostentatiously. ‘Tonight I’ll do you a favour. I’ll dance with Thom.’

  Patrick had too much alcohol in his system to experience the same panic of discovery he’d felt earlier. He was tired, a bit drunk, and all he really wanted now was to get Tash alone to say thanks for a good night and start walking the six kilometres home. It’d do him good. Night air and exercise might clear his head of the muck swirling around inside it. And the walk past Springban
k would provide a much-needed reminder of where his priorities lay.

  ‘Tash inside, is she?’

  Ceci pouted. She really was hammered. ‘Don’t leave me.’

  ‘I just need to find Tash. Look, Thom’s here. You two can dance.’ He nudged her towards Thom, who’d lost the hat but still looked stupid to Patrick.

  Tash was at the sink. He watched her from the doorway for a few seconds. She was humming to the music and swaying, but not drunkenly like Ceci. Happily.

  Patrick spotted a tea towel on the bench. Dumping his beer, he picked it up and reached for a pot.

  She looked up from her work. ‘Oh, I thought you were Thom.’

  ‘Bit bigger than him.’

  ‘You are, and just as nice. Thanks. Ceci seems to have deserted me, not that that’s anything new. She hates doing dishes.’ She held up a soapy hand and wiggled her fingers. ‘It’s not good for her nails.’

  ‘No one likes doing dishes.’

  ‘I don’t mind it that much, actually. Gives me a chance to think over what worked and what didn’t.’

  ‘I thought everything worked. Food was great, the yard looked amazing. Everyone had a good time.’

  ‘And you? Did you have a good time?’

  He thought of Ceci and her smug teasing. His night had been a combination of nerves, jealousy, pride and want. Good wasn’t the word he’d choose, except he didn’t want to disappoint. ‘Yeah.’

  ‘You don’t sound convinced.’ Her face changed. ‘Ah. Of course. Sorry about that.’

  ‘About what?’

  Tash checked over her shoulder. ‘Ceci. She can be a bit … flirty. Especially after too many sauv blancs.’ She lowered her voice even further. ‘She didn’t put the hard word on you, did she?’

  ‘No.’ He lowered the pot to the bench and picked up another. There weren’t many left. He wished there was a pile so he could keep talking to her. From outside came the sound of Ceci’s out-of-tune singing, followed by giggles. ‘Funny behaviour for a girl with a boyfriend.’

  For a brief moment Tash appeared wistful. ‘A very nice boyfriend too. I don’t think she means it. It’s just a game.’ She scrubbed at a stubborn stain. ‘It’s silly though. Ceci’s actually quite clever but for some reason she hides it.’

  Not from Patrick, she didn’t. Unfortunately.

  ‘I don’t know why. Maybe she worries men might find the combination of beauty and brains too intimidating.’ Tash smiled. ‘What a worry to have.’

  She blew air out from her bottom lip, directing it upward and making the tendril of hair that was annoying her flutter. The steam that had settled on her forehead from the hot dishwater made it stick back in place. Setting aside his dried pot, Patrick used his index finger to ease the hair out of her eyes, his touch lingering to rest at her temple.

  It was intimate, nice. The sort of thing he would have once done for Maddy. Except this felt different. This felt better. Perfect. Like the universe was aligning.

  Tash was still, her startled gaze fixed on the tiled splashback. Patrick’s heart thumped. He should take his hand away now but she was warm and sweet and he was drunk, and he didn’t want to stop what was happening.

  Softly, slowly, he caressed the length of her cheek and along the edge of her face. Her rapid, shallow breaths caused his attention to slip to her mouth and then chest. The exposed skin was flushed and shiny. Her breasts rising and falling. Patrick rested the tips of his fingers on the satin skin below her jawline. One tiny lift and her face would tilt towards him. He could lower his mouth. Touch her, breathe her.

  He shouldn’t.

  Tash’s pink lips parted.

  Yeah, he should.

  Chapter 19

  Oh. My. God.

  Tash couldn’t move. Patrick. Patrick of Maddy, of her childhood, of the beautiful people, was going to kiss her. In the kitchen. With her arms covered in suds and an evening’s worth of hard-earned sweat on her face.

  No way should this be happening. No way. But from the instinctive lean of her body towards him, from the fiery fizz igniting her every cell, from the excited, stupid yearning in her soul, Tash’s traitorous heart was going to make it happen.

  His finger, so tender on her chin, began to draw her face upward.

  Tash closed her eyes. She’d temporarily lost her mind, he had to be more drunk than she realised and this had to stop. Now.

  ‘Please, Patrick.’ She breathed the last word with an ache. ‘Don’t.’

  Immediately Patrick stepped backwards to sag heavily against the benchtop, his knuckles pale as they gripped the hard edge. Tash could feel the embarrassment radiating off him like heat. Her stomach tightened with anxiety that her rejection had somehow made his sorrow worse. She had to though. Patrick wasn’t in a strong emotional place at the moment and kissing her wouldn’t help.

  It was unlikely to do Tash much good either.

  ‘I’ll go,’ he said.

  She kept her tone gentle. ‘You don’t have to.’

  He made a noise that was a kind of half laugh, half bitter sound, then sighed and rubbed his forehead before raking his hand through his hair. ‘Yeah, I think I do.’ Barely making eye contact, he twitched something resembling a smile and shoved off the bench. ‘Thanks for a good night. I’ll see you round.’

  He took a step, stopped and stared at his shoes, his brow deeply furrowed. A second passed, then two, as if he was deciding between escape and a need to say more. Then he shook his head and walked on. Tash watched his heavy trudge, her belly still tight and her blood pulsing hot.

  ‘Hang on,’ she said, following him around the bench. ‘How are you getting home?’

  ‘Walking.’

  ‘You can’t walk. It’s nearly six kilometres!’

  ‘Do me good.’

  ‘Patrick, no.’ She stayed his arm. The muscles were granite-hard with tension. His gaze flitted everywhere but at her. ‘I’ll drive you.’

  Finally, he made eye contact. ‘You’re probably more over the limit than me.’

  ‘Wrong. I’ve been too busy to drink. I had one glass of champagne at the start of the night and a shot of liqueur, but that was an hour ago. I’m fine.’

  She gave his arm a squeeze and reached for the sideboard and the bowl where she kept her keys. She jangled them in front of him. ‘Come on.’

  Patrick hesitated then followed.

  Outside it was giggle central. Ceci and Thom had made up some sort of drinking game with the inflatable stools that involved perching on them with wineglasses to their mouths, and pulling the air plug out. Tash caught them halfway through a deflation. She watched with amusement as each tried to keep their balance on the collapsing stools and thanked her lucky stars she’d earlier insisted that they swap to plastic glasses.

  Thom was first to lose balance, red wine spilling down his front and splashing his chinos. Ceci fell on her arse soon after but bounced straight back up to perform a triumphant dance.

  ‘Best of three!’ yelled Thom, plonking his glass on the pavers and diving for another stool.

  Tash glanced at Patrick but he was oblivious, staring blankly towards the road with his fists rammed into his pockets.

  ‘You children carry on,’ she called, cutting the countdown midstream. ‘I’m just going to drop Patrick home.’

  ‘Take your time,’ said Ceci. ‘We don’t mind, do we, Thom?’

  ‘Nope. There’s still …’ He attempted to count stools but got lost. ‘Heaps to go.’

  Tash rolled her eyes. Those two were going to be very ill come morning.

  Patrick’s knees were bent up comically high in the confines of Tash’s little car, even with the seat pushed back to its limit.

  ‘They’re not designed for people like you,’ she said as he struggled to get comfortable.

  ‘Good for the city, I guess.’

  ‘Very. Mostly I catch public transport. I meet more interesting people that way and see more. You’d be amazed how many fruit-laden trees I’ve spotted while riding the
tram.’ She guided the car out of the carport and put it into gear. Patrick’s ute sat lonely in the moonlight behind the flat. ‘I can drive it over in the morning, if you want to leave me the keys.’

  ‘It’s okay. I’ll get Mum or Dad to drop me back.’ He stared out the side window, his finger on the pane as though he was about to trace letters.

  Tash glanced at him, assessing whether to offer something more than words—a light hand on his knee, a quick squeeze of his fingers—but kept her hands on the wheel. With her own confused feelings, more contact wasn’t a good idea.

  She drove slowly on the gravel road, not because she was scared—although wildlife was always an issue thanks to the protected zone surrounding Baron’s Swamp—but because she wanted a chance to talk about what had happened between them. Tash needed to stop this, whatever this was, before it damaged them further. They were friends. Anything else would be for the wrong reasons—his loneliness, her lust—with the likely outcome a friendship in tatters.

  Except Tash had slept with Thom and they were still friends. Good friends. Her experience with Thom was different though—a one-nighter of silly laughter-filled sex with no hang-ups and definitely no expectation of anything further.

  Springbank was in darkness. Tash watched Patrick out of the corner of her eye as they passed. He gave Maddy’s home a quick glance then rested the side of his head against the window with his eyes shut as though trying to block the image.

  The turnoff to Wiruna came too soon. Tash braked near the house and turned off the ignition. The engine tick and their breathing was the only sound in the quiet. She shifted to face Patrick. He was staring through the windscreen, seatbelt undone, one hand on the door. The porch light filtering through trees left strange shadows across his face.

  ‘Patrick, look at me.’

  He swallowed and met her eyes.

  ‘It’s okay.’

  He shook his head and stared back at the windscreen.

  Tash reached for his hand and threaded her fingers through his. ‘It wouldn’t be right. You know it wouldn’t. You wouldn’t forgive yourself because of Maddy.’ She smiled and tried to lighten the tension. ‘It’s not because you’re not devastatingly attractive.’