The Barbershop Girl

by Georgina Penney

  Amy prodded his side with an elbow and flicked a curl of her hair, left loose today, over her shoulder.

  ‘Is there a line I just stepped over? You have an aversion to sexual suggestiveness in public?’ he asked silkily.

  ‘You stomped over it some time ago. Now be a good boy and gargle your wine.’

  Later that afternoon, Ben watched Amy’s stiff back as she charged ahead of him.

  She was adorable when pissed off. It was like having a cupcake unexpectedly growl at you. Right now, he knew she wanted to growl at him to hurry up.

  ‘You know, I think I have a new nickname for you.’ He strode leisurely behind her, absentmindedly noting the lush green winter pasture mowed down to a few inches by a flock of sheep in the distance. Not that he was really focusing on the scenery with Amy’s hips swaying in a pair of eye-wateringly pink skinny jeans. Her feet were encased in a pair of silly purple wedge-heeled sneakers of the kind that hadn’t been seen since the Spice Girls inflicted them on the general public in the late nineties.

  ‘Yeah?’ Amy stopped abruptly and looked over her shoulder, her ponytail swinging round jauntily to hit her cheek.

  Ben eyed off the shoes, wondering who had been insane enough to sell them. ‘Yes. There are a few contenders actually. Pinup Spice? Sexy Spice? I like that one.’ He made a mental note to log the name away for future reference. He’d decided this morning that he was going to make Ross’s local Jaguar dealer very happy.

  Over the past two days, without even meaning to, he’d begun mentally composing chapters for the book. Being shown around Western Australia’s impressive wine region by Amy was far too good a subject to pass up. He was on holiday with his muse and his imagination was working double time.

  ‘Walk or talk, your pick, smarty pants,’ Amy said pertly, oblivious to his thoughts as she turned back to stomping across the grass, deftly dodging sheep manure and the odd cowpat without even blinking.

  ‘Do you own any flat shoes? Any at all?’ Ben chuckled at the way her ponytail swished in irritation.

  ‘No, they make my feet hurt.’

  ‘Really? You really can’t wear flat shoes at all?’

  ‘I don’t need to usually,’ Amy said over her shoulder. ‘I haven’t worn proper flats since I was a kid.’

  ‘After you left home you mean?’ Ben skirted his way around a particularly large and pungent cowpat.

  ‘Yeah. When I left here I promised myself I’d never go barefoot again.’

  ‘Oh? You know, I never got around to asking why you left.’ Ben tried to keep his tone nonchalant. He was now burning with the frustrated curiosity of both a lover and a writer. He’d worked out how Amy operated. It was bloody intelligent really. Instead of clamming up, she shared, but only what she was comfortable with, and she did it in a way that made any further prying seem rude.

  ‘Less talk, more walk.’

  He got the hint, realising that it would be better to temporarily change the topic. ‘It’s beautiful here.’ He stopped walking and turned to look over a gently rolling panorama that could have been Mediterranean if it weren’t for the eucalyptus trees lining the vineyards in the distance. And the smell. It was a uniquely Australian, tangy, earthy smell that communicated clearly that while it might be winter and green now, it would soon be dry, yellow and baking with heat. The smell crackled in his nostrils. It was hypnotic. Almost as hypnotic as the pensive lady standing a few metres in front of him.

  ‘You haven’t told me where we’re going yet.’

  ‘We’re walking to the spot where my sister and I used to camp.’ Amy rubbed her hands over her jeans and looked over Ben’s shoulder.

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘It’s about an hour away. This is Jeff’s property, he’s an old school friend. He and his sister own the cottage we’re staying in. Anyway, just there,’ she pointed to a fence a few hundred metres away, ‘is the beginning of Evangeline’s Rest. We lived here when I was little. Jo stays here a lot nowadays because she’s engaged to Stephen. He’s the third youngest son in the Hardy family. Remember I told you? Scott’s their cousin.’ Something flickered over her expression, fleeting but definitely there, at the mention of her sister. ‘Remember the photo you saw on my wall, the one of Jo and me as kids? That’s where we’re going. With luck the stones from our old campfire will still be there so we can coal roast an afternoon snack.’ She began walking again, gesturing for him to follow.

  Before they’d left the cottage, she’d wrangled him into wrapping the oddest array of foods in tin foil, apparently to burn them to a cinder in a campfire. Ben was an urban beast at heart and had never camped in his life, so the prospect of charred vegetables wasn’t exactly doing it for him. If it hadn’t been for the opportunity of experiencing something he could write about, he probably would have vetoed this little trek and persuaded Amy to enjoy their surrounds from afar. From their bedroom window, preferably.

  He stepped in something distinctly rural and scowled. ‘Old campsite? You didn’t tell me this was a pilgrimage back in time to the ruins of your wonderful childhood. Is this going to be where they publicly flogged you daily, or where they ritualistically tied you to a stake and torched the tinder?’ Sarcasm dripped from his tone. The mention of Watanabe and Amy’s close relationship didn’t bring out the best in him.

  Amy stopped again. ‘Maybe this was a silly idea.’

  ‘No, no. I’m a colossal ass.’ Ben ran his hand over his head in a frustrated gesture before capturing Amy’s elbow, bringing her round to face him. ‘I’m terribly sorry.’

  Her eyes were unusually shiny, as if she was holding off tears. The sight was like a punch in the stomach and he felt like a self-absorbed idiot, a two-inch tall one at that. ‘How about I try that again?’ He waited for an excruciating amount of time before she averted her eyes and nodded.

  ‘Wonderful.’ He felt relief course through him. ‘Miss Amy Blaine, goddess of impractical footwear, I would be dearly honoured if you could show me the location of your childhood campsite.’ He was gratified by a surprised gurgle of laughter.

  ‘Okay, but you have to be nice. I’m not getting my shoes dirty for just anyone.’ She gently shook free of his hold to lead the way again.

  ‘Your shoes? You’re not the one getting sheep dung on Gucci sneakers.’

  ‘I told you to buy gumboots. What straight man wears Gucci sneakers anyway?’

  ‘A straight man with a terribly label-conscious gay personal assistant who does his shopping. Besides, I had no idea what you were talking about when you said, and I quote, “gummies”.I thought you were talking about confectionery, not footwear.’

  ‘Not my problem, m’love,’ Amy said breezily. ‘Although, if you keep making fun of me, you’ll wake up tomorrow morning tied to the bed with your feet covered in jam.’

  ‘Kinky.’

  ‘It won’t be when the ants find you.’

  And with that Ben decided to enjoy himself. It wasn’t hard.

  Amy was the perfect tour guide. Contrary to her immaculately polished appearance, she was entirely at home in this most rural of settings. The cool winter air flushed her cheeks pink and brought a sparkle to her eyes as she gradually relaxed and shared stories from her elusive childhood. She told him about playing hide and seek in the distant vineyards with her sister and Watanabe, and how they’d taught themselves to swim in a dam that was located near the campsite they were apparently walking to.

  The way she talked, one would think she, her sister and Watanabe were the only people who’d existed in these parts twenty years ago. Amy never mentioned her parents. Ben knew better than to inquire. He never mentioned his either, unless under duress. He was curious, but that could wait. While not his strong suit, patience would serve him well in this instance.

  ‘There’s a restaurant at the winery here. It’s called Evangeline’s,’ Amy said.

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘It’s run by Stephen’s sister Rachael. She’s a chef. I’ve booked us in for later tonight. I’d like t
o take you to dinner for once. You don’t mind?’

  ‘Not at all. Why would I?’

  ‘No reason. It’s up there.’ She pointed towards a dense clump of straggly trees and scrub next to a small gully dam.

  ‘The restaurant?’

  Amy frowned like an offended kitten.

  ‘You mean the great pilgrimage is at its end?’

  ‘Yep. I hope your fire-building skills are good because we’re going to have to work fast to cook our snacks before the rain over there hits us.’ She pointed to an incoming set of dark grey clouds, looking anything but alarmed. ‘Although we might get lucky and it’ll go the other way.’ She took his hand and begun tugging him along behind her. The ground was wetter here and Ben’s already soaked shoes got even more waterlogged. He noticed with ill humour that the tops of Amy’s platform sneakers weren’t wet in the slightest.

  He was so focused in navigating his way across the increasingly swampy earth that he stumbled into Amy’s back when she came to an abrupt stop.

  ‘Sweetheart? Are you alright?’

  ‘Yeah,’ she said in a low, reverent voice. ‘It’s still here.’

  ‘What is?’ Ben looked around. They were staring at the edge of an overgrown clearing just inside the copse of trees. It was small, only about five metres across, and contained a circle of stones in the centre.

  ‘The hideout I made with Jo nearly twenty years ago. I was eight when I made it. The last sheet we used must have rotted away ages ago but the supporting branches are still there.’ She pointed to the branches propped against a gnarled and knotted tree trunk. A prickly-looking bush with leaves that reminded Ben of holly was sprouting healthily underneath them. ‘We made it the summer Jo and I hung out here for the whole school holiday. Scott found us a few days after Christmas. He was standing where I am now when he took the photo you saw. We were watching the Hardy kids play.’ She drew an audible, shaky breath.

  ‘Care to tell me about it?’ He raised a hand to brush her hair away from her cheek and then dropped it when she stepped away, her arms coming round to hug herself as she approached the decaying structure. The vivid splash of her clothing stood out in stark relief against the near-monochrome, storm-grey and khaki-green backdrop.

  ‘We used to have this old tent we’d put here.’ She gestured to a patch of bare ground covered in acid-scented eucalyptus leaves and twigs that were still saturated from the recent rain.

  ‘Hmm?’

  ‘And we used to swim over there.’ She turned around and pointed to the clay bank of the dam before falling silent, her eyes blank as her mind rewound itself to a past Ben had no way of accessing.

  He remembered the photograph, two girls, outsiders, watching other children play. He experienced the same pang of kinship as before. Memories of his own lonely childhood began to bubble to the surface. He didn’t want that, so he did what he always did when things got uncomfortable. He spoke.

  ‘This is all very moving, but you did say something about starting a fire before it rains. Or is starving us a part of this little retrospective?’

  ‘Ben. Shh.’ Amy’s expression was calm, distracted.

  Feeling strangely at a loss, Ben opened his mouth to speak again, then closed it, settling for taking a seat on a relatively dry fallen log instead, watching Amy as she wandered around.

  He had absolutely no clue what she was thinking or what mood she was in and he didn’t like it one little bit. He knew he had the perfect chance to ask more, to get her story, but seeing her in this space, caught up in her own thoughts, it felt like the worst kind of violation of her privacy.

  Finally, desperately needing something to distract him, he rifled through the small backpack he was carrying and puzzled over how one lit a fire on damp ground.

  LATER THAT NIGHT, Amy lay on her side watching Ben sleep.

  He was on his stomach, showing a broad expanse of pale, muscled back, both arms raised above his head, grasping his pillow. Even with his face mashed to one side, mouth slightly open while he snored quietly, the man was too handsome for his own good. In sleep, his harsh features softened until he looked almost boyish, particularly so in the soft light from the lamp he insisted on leaving alight despite Amy’s protests about saving power. She’d asked him about it but he’d always changed the topic, distracting her with a joke or by deliberately sparking her temper. She’d noticed he always did that whenever he didn’t want to talk about something, used words to deflect her as if he was worried she’d see something about him that he wanted to keep hidden.

  She resisted the urge to reach out and brush her fingers over his cheek. She didn’t want Ben awake right now. She needed to think.

  She was feeling unsettled. Something inside her, something significant, had changed today, but she wasn’t sure what it was, or why it had shifted for that matter. It had been years since she’d thought about the past but right now, she couldn’t sleep for the memories.

  Camping for days, and sometimes weeks, on end at Evangeline’s Rest had been Jo’s way of keeping Amy safe from their dad’s drunken rages. Jo had put herself in the line of their dad’s anger to protect Amy so many times she would never be able to repay her in one lifetime. Not that Jo’d ever admit she’d done as much. Jo had never wanted Amy to know what she went through to keep her safe and, in return, Amy had learned to paste on a happy smile and pretend everything was fine so Jo wouldn’t feel bad.

  It didn’t take a genius to see the bruises, cuts and scars and add them to the instances when Jo had encouraged Amy to play outside. A few times it had even been past their bedtime when Jo had roused Amy from sleep, insisting she go out and hide for a game of hide and seek. Amy had always gone along with it, but as she’d got older, the guilt she’d felt over letting Jo take the brunt of their dad’s abuse had become unbearable.

  She’d finally cracked one Christmas after their dad had found out they’d gone to a Christmas party without telling him. When he’d taken a swing at Jo with a bottle in his hand, Amy had deliberately stepped in the way. She’d ended up with a slashed lip, but it had been worth it: it was the catalyst for them to leave home. With Scott’s help, they’d escaped to Perth and started a new life.

  Jo had been sixteen and a half, while Amy had been twelve. With Jo’s height and maturity, she’d been able to fool their landlords and employers into believing she was legal. They had gone to school as normal, faking the presence of parents at home and generally keeping their heads down so their teachers wouldn’t notice anything unusual. Even though they’d got away, they’d both felt guilty over leaving their mother and Amy had secretly travelled down to George Creek to check on her every few months.

  She’d been devastated to learn last year that all those years of guilt and worrying had been for nothing. When Amy and Jo had given their mother the means to leave their dad, she’d chosen to stay with him, threatening their lives if they tried to rescue her again.

  It had been heartbreaking.

  The memory came with its usual stab of pain, but Amy let it wash over her, knowing she needed to feel like this to remind herself what she and Jo shared. She needed to remember that it was better to have Jo angry at her right now than constantly worried and stressed that she’d messed up, like she had been before. Anything was better than that.

  Amy was grumpy at herself for not fixing things by now but also knew that she’d done the right thing in delaying the inevitable conversation until they were both calmer. She’d tell Jo everything but not until she knew Jo could handle it and, if she was honest, when she knew she could handle it too. She hated the thought of hurting anybody and seeing Jo’s hurt was a thousand times worse than feeling her own.

  She was happy she’d taken Ben along today. He was always so curious about her past. Since she couldn’t bear explaining it all, she’d thought showing him would help. Despite him being a little grumpy here and there, she thought he’d somehow understood.

  She looked down at him again and gave in to the urge to run her hand over
the sleek muscles on his shoulder. He smiled a naughty half-smile in his sleep and the icky feelings were blown away.

  She’d accepted today that she’d fallen in love with him. Looking at him now, bathed in the soft yellow lamplight, it wasn’t much of a surprise. He was funny, intelligent, kind in his own weird way and a brilliant lover. She just hoped he liked her just as much as she liked him.

  ‘I can hear your brain working from here.’ Ben’s eyes were still closed and he hadn’t moved but there was still a faint smile on his lips.

  ‘Am I keeping you awake?’ Amy asked in hushed tones, taking the liberty to run her hand up his neck and over the top of his head, enjoying the raspy soft feel of his hair against her palm.

  ‘You are now but keep doing that and I’ll forgive you.’ He opened his eyes and even in the dull light their pale green colour was startlingly vivid.

  ‘Alright.’

  He groaned as her hand drifted down to his neck again and she began lazily massaging the muscles there.

  ‘Was I a bastard today?’

  Amy paused. ‘A little bit of one.’ She patted his back to tell him it was okay.

  ‘Do I need to apologise? It looked like you were having a difficult time of it this afternoon and you didn’t say much over dinner at the restaurant. I was a little worried.’

  ‘It’s okay.’ Amy ran her hand in wide circles over his upper back. ‘Actually, I was just quiet because I was making sure I got to eat my share before you inhaled it all. That’s the last time we order a tasting plate, mister. With you, I don’t need to worry about dieting.’

  ‘You calling me a glutton?’ Ben abruptly rolled over, grasped her hand and pulled her against his chest. ‘You do know that you’re contradicting everything you said earlier about my magnificent body.’