by Holly Ford
Hearing stirrings on the other side of the house, Lizzie prepped the coffee machine for another onslaught. Bloody Fergusson had woken everyone up. No chance, then, of a quiet wander around the vineyard with her own thoughts. Lovely as it was to have everyone there — and it really was — she could do with a little down-time.
‘Morning.’ Jules, bleary-eyed and rumpled, wandered through in her pyjamas. ‘I guess Ella got her ride, then. I thought Carr was joking last night.’
‘Apparently not.’ Lizzie got up. ‘Cappuccino?’
‘Just an espresso for me. I think I overdid it last night. You should have stopped me.’
Around midday, Seb put down his phone, looked around the room, and declared a case of cabin fever. ‘Let’s go to the pub,’ he suggested.
‘Ugh,’ said Jules.
Richard looked up from checking his Icebreaker barcode. ‘The pub?’
‘What pub?’ Lizzie laughed.
‘This one.’ Seb passed her his phone. ‘I Googled it.’
‘You do realise,’ said Lizzie, peering down at the satellite map, ‘how long it’ll take to get there?’
‘An hour and fifty-six minutes,’ said Seb triumphantly, taking back his phone. ‘Come on, Dickie — what do you say?’
‘I’m in,’ Richard grinned.
‘Good man.’
Jules shook her head. ‘You’ll be back for dinner, though, won’t you? Lizzie’s been cooking all morning. Again.’
‘We could all go,’ Richard suggested. ‘Have dinner there — give Lizzie a night off.’
Sensing her quiet afternoon slipping away, Lizzie scrabbled to think of a reason she couldn’t go. ‘What about Ella?’
‘I thought you said Carr was dropping her back,’ said Jules.
‘Yes.’ She blushed at the lameness of her excuse. ‘But I’d better be here when he does — you know, just in case there are any problems.’
Richard shot her a funny look.
‘Anyway,’ she remembered, thankfully, ‘it’s too late now. I’ve already poached the salmon.’
‘You boys go on your own,’ said Jules. ‘Us girls will stay here and talk about you.’
Lizzie watched Richard’s rental car drive away with a sense of relief. Instantly, she felt more relaxed. A blissful quiet descended over the house.
‘Peaceful, isn’t it?’ said Jules, settling back with her magazine.
The phone rang. Ella was stuck at Blackpeak Station, and quite happy to be so, from the sound of her voice. Looking at the beef fillet she’d defrosted for their main course, Lizzie sighed. There’d be plenty to go around, then.
Some hours later, the grass mown, the irrigation lines checked and her equilibrium restored, Lizzie turned her attention back to dinner.
‘I thought we’d have a rosé with the salmon,’ she told Jules, reaching the bottle out. ‘What do you think?’
‘Lovely.’ Jules put her iPad down.
Lizzie tucked the wine into the fridge beside the chilling salmon. Now, what else did she need to do? She checked her recipe book. Bring the beef fillet up to room temperature. Okay. And open the wine. The meringues must have cooled by now, she could take those out, and wash the berries …
Jules came over to sit at the bench. ‘You know, you’re spoiling us something rotten.’ She grinned. ‘We may never leave.’
‘I wish you wouldn’t,’ said Lizzie, truthfully. ‘Do you really have to go on Sunday?’
‘Be careful what you wish for,’ Jules said mischievously. ‘We might be back before long.’
Lizzie put her punnet of raspberries down. ‘You’re serious about this film idea, then?’
‘I’m going to pitch it to the networks. I think it could fly.’ Jules paused to steal a raspberry. ‘The hard part,’ she went on, carefully, ‘will be getting things organised on this side. For it to work, we’d really need to have somebody on the ground here — somebody who knew what they were doing.’
‘You wouldn’t be asking me to be your unpaid production manager, by any chance?’
‘Well, you’d be more of an unpaid location scout first,’ said Jules. ‘But with prospects for promotion.’
‘Unbelievable.’
‘Come on!’ Jules pinched another raspberry. ‘Think of all the spare time you’ll have when we’ve gone.’
Lizzie laughed. ‘You’re forgetting I have a vineyard to run.’
‘I thought some other lot did that.’
Well, yes, largely, but still … Lizzie shook her head. ‘I don’t suppose “no” is an option?’
‘Never,’ said Jules.
‘All right.’ She moved the raspberries out of Jules’s reach. ‘But only because it might bring you and Seb back here for a decent stretch of time.’
‘Richard asked if he could do the show.’ Jules studied Lizzie’s face.
‘Good idea.’ Richard hadn’t done as much voice-over work as he should. ‘He’d make a great narrator.’
‘Not just voice it — present. We’ll do the whole thing as his personal journey.’
Lizzie stopped peppering the fillet. ‘Since when was that the idea?’
‘Since about half an hour after he offered last night,’ Jules said.
It was a great idea, Lizzie thought. Richard had never done a documentary before. His face would certainly help Jules sell the show — and the show, when it went to air, would help sell Richard. She turned the thought in her mind. Richard would be there, with her, for what — weeks? They’d never spent that sort of time of together. Not that, she reminded herself, they’d be together. But Richard would be there.
‘I got the feeling,’ Jules began carefully, ‘his offer may have had something to do with you.’
Lizzie shook her head. ‘I didn’t suggest it.’
‘No,’ said Jules. ‘That’s not what I meant. I think he might want—’
They both looked around at the sound of car wheels on the gravel outside. Lizzie checked her watch. Was it that time already? How on earth had it got to be six o’clock? She’d better get the potatoes on.
Seb walked in, looking pale. Oh dear: well, she had warned them about the road.
‘You look like you could use a drink,’ she smiled. ‘Sit down.’ Halfway to the fridge, Lizzie glanced back over her shoulder. ‘What have you done with Richard?’
‘Lizzie.’ God, Seb really did look terrible. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘Sorry?’ She brought the bottle back. ‘What for?’
‘Richard’s not coming.’
‘What do you mean he’s not coming?’ asked Lizzie, stupidly.
‘He decided to stay at the pub,’ Seb said, miserably.
‘What — you left him there by himself?’
Seb shot a glance at Jules, then stared at the kitchen bench.
‘Oh, Jesus Christ.’ Jules turned away furiously. ‘Tell me he didn’t! Now that’s just fucking rude.’
Understanding at last, Lizzie swallowed hard: Richard wasn’t by himself.
‘He said to say’ — Seb bit his lip — ‘he said to say he was sorry about dinner.’
‘It’s okay.’ Lizzie tried to pull herself together. She stared at the food on the bench. ‘More beef for us,’ she managed, brightly.
‘It’s not okay,’ fumed Jules. ‘He’s staying under your roof, for Christ’s sake.’
‘Richard,’ said Lizzie firmly, ‘is a free agent. He can do whatever he likes.’
‘And he always does,’ Jules snapped back. ‘Honestly, Lizzie, I don’t know how you can—’
‘Leave it, Jules.’ Seb patted her hand. ‘You’re not helping.’ Coming around the bench, he took the forgotten bottle from Lizzie’s hand, poured three glasses, and passed one to Lizzie before putting his arm around her. ‘Listen, Lizzie, love, you don’t have to go through with cooking all this if you’re not in the mood. I’ll clear up, and Jules can make us her special something-out-of-a-tin.’
‘Don’t be silly.’ Lizzie took a deep breath. ‘Just because Dickie has cho
sen to … dine elsewhere doesn’t mean the rest of us can’t enjoy our evening.’
Seb and Jules declared every mouthful delicious, but the food she’d worked so hard on stuck in Lizzie’s throat. It was all she could do to swallow. She was furious at herself for feeling this way: it was Dickie, for Christ’s sake. What the hell had she expected?
By the time they’d cleaned up, it was nearly midnight. She could see Seb and Jules exchanging worried glances.
‘I think I’ll turn in,’ she told them.
‘Are you sure?’ Jules asked.
‘Well,’ Lizzie managed a smile, ‘I wasn’t planning to wait up.’
In bed, she lay awake, looking out at the shrinking moon, half dreading, half wishing to hear the sound of Richard coming home. Except for the noise of the frogs in the irrigation pond, the night went by in silence. She tried to shut her imagination down. It didn’t matter what he was doing now.
Come on, she told herself, rolling onto her other side, you’ve had decades of practice at this. It was many, many years since she had last shed a tear over Richard — over any man, in fact. But around 3am, the thought of the empty bed down the hall began to make Lizzie cry.
Ugh. In the bathroom, Lizzie prodded the swelling under her eyes. No wonder she’d given up crying herself to sleep: it made you look awful. She’d better do something to bring that down before Seb and Jules saw her. Cucumber, she remembered, that was the thing. There was one in the fridge. She pulled her dressing gown on and went out to the kitchen.
In the grey light of dawn, her beautiful house felt … vacant. Carefully, Lizzie opened the door to the guest wing. Silence. Unable to stop herself, she crept down the hall. Richard’s door was ajar. Lizzie pushed it open. His bed was still empty. She stood in the doorway, looking at it. At his things on the dresser. His bags on the floor. All of them abandoned.
She stepped out. Ella’s door was open, too. Hoping to cheer herself up, Lizzie went in and sat on her daughter’s bed. That quilt — she could remember the day she and Ella had picked it out. She looked around at Ella’s photographs. Her ex-husband stared back accusingly. Richard’s portrait made her feel even worse. Ella had caught that little look of his, the one you hardly ever saw: the one that made him seem almost human.
Lizzie got up. In the kitchen, she cut two slices of cucumber and took them back to her room. After a minute of lying flat on her back with cucumber and a cold facecloth over her eyes, she decided she needed a coffee. Besides, it felt better to be moving. She pulled on yesterday’s clothes, made herself a flat white, and headed out into the vines.
Oh God, that was all she needed. As the throb of the helicopter began to echo around the hills, Lizzie increased her pace. She didn’t want to be seen like this. Not by Ella. And certainly not by Carr Fergusson. Lizzie’s mind flew back to his grip on her wrist last night — the night before last, she reminded herself. Just because she’d barely slept since then didn’t mean the past twenty-four hours hadn’t happened.
Almost against her will, she turned to watch the helicopter descend. No sooner had Ella hobbled out than Fergusson was away again. Lizzie turned her back as he passed overhead, heading into the hills. Heading home. What was it like? she wondered. She tried to imagine a high country bachelor pad. A lot of guns and dusty dead things, no doubt.
She looked over her shoulder. Ella was still standing there on the lawn, shading her eyes as she peered up the slope in Lizzie’s direction. So she’d been seen. Lizzie took a deep breath. She’d better go down; hiding up in the vines was not the best way to prove she wasn’t upset.
‘Morning!’ Ella waved as Lizzie walked out of the row. ‘You’re out and about early.’
‘Hello, darling,’ Lizzie began, mustering her best smile.
‘Mum? What’s wrong?’
Behind Ella, Richard was walking up the drive. Seeing them, he stopped. Lizzie watched him hesitate.
‘Hello,’ he said softly. God, he looked rough. Well, for him, anyway.
‘Richard!’ Beaming, Ella turned. ‘You’re up early, too. What got you out of bed?’ Lizzie watched her daughter’s brow furrow as Ella took in Richard’s rumpled shirt, blood-shot eyes and not-so-designer stubble.
‘I—’ Richard sought out Lizzie’s eyes.
Lizzie looked away. ‘Richard’s been out with a friend,’ she told Ella, matter-of-factly.
‘Crikey.’ The frown lingered on Ella’s face as she continued to look Richard up and down. ‘I thought I’d had a rough night.’
Lizzie raised her eyebrows.
‘I spent the night in the shearers’ quarters,’ Ella explained. ‘Alone,’ she added, rolling her eyes, as Lizzie’s brows shot higher.
‘Have you had breakfast?’ Lizzie asked her, ignoring Richard as best she could.
‘I haven’t had anything. Carr had us out at the crack of dawn. I didn’t even have time for a shower.’
Ugh, Lizzie hoped Richard had. ‘Well,’ she said brightly. ‘Why don’t we all go inside? I’ll make us some eggs.’
Eggs? She never made eggs. What the hell was wrong with her? Head high, Lizzie led the way back to the house.
Inside, Richard made a beeline for the hall. ‘I’m going to go and—’ He hesitated, hand on the door. ‘Freshen up,’ he finished, lamely.
Ella watched him go. ‘Actually, if you don’t mind, Mum,’ she yawned, ‘I think I might do the same.’
‘Of course.’
Lizzie watched the hall door swing to behind her daughter’s back. She looked down at the egg in her hand. Fighting the urge to hurl it at the wall, she placed it back in the carton.
‘Lizzie? Are you in there?’
In her bathroom, Lizzie hesitated. Reluctantly, she put her mascara down and went to the bedroom door.
‘What is it, Dickie?’
‘Can I come in?’
She held the door open. Richard crossed the room and settled himself on Lizzie’s as-yet-unmade bed, then, catching a glimpse of the expression on her face as she turned, got up and moved to the chair.
Tightening her bathrobe, Lizzie sat on the bed. Richard leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. ‘I’m sorry.’ He looked down at his hands.
Lizzie watched him. Fresh out of the shower, he was shaven and sparkling clean in a new T-shirt and jeans, all trace of the Richard who’d dragged himself in an hour ago washed away. He looked up into her face.
‘I’ll leave today if you want me to.’
‘Leave?’ she snapped. ‘Why on earth would I want you to leave?’
Richard was silent.
‘I’m glad you had fun.’ Drawing herself up, Lizzie looked him right in the eye. ‘So,’ she said brightly, ‘what was her name?’
Richard hesitated. ‘Kristal.’ The ghost of a smile crossed his face. ‘With a K, I believe.’
‘Was she pretty?’
‘Lizzie …’
‘What?’ Getting up, she began looking for something — she wasn’t sure what — in her dresser drawers. She glanced sideways at Richard, who’d sunk his head into his hands. ‘Jules tells me you’re going to front the doco for her,’ she offered into the silence.
Richard stood up. Lizzie stiffened. But instead of walking towards her, he turned his back and stood looking out at the view. ‘It seemed like a good idea at the time,’ he said.
‘It is a good idea,’ she told him.
‘I thought—’ He stopped himself.
‘What did you think?’ Turning, Lizzie leaned back against the dresser and sighed. ‘Look, we’re friends, you and I. We always have been.’ She paused. ‘We always will be.’
Slowly, he turned to face her. ‘Just friends,’ he smiled.
‘Friends,’ she said firmly, again. ‘There’s no just about it.’
‘Lizzie.’ His voice fell as he moved around the bed towards her. ‘Can we—’
‘I don’t think so, Dickie. No.’ Lizzie looked away quickly.
For a second he stood there, hands at his sides.
; ‘Do you mind?’ She nodded towards the door. ‘I should really get dressed.’
‘Of course,’ Richard said softly. ‘Sorry to hold you up.’ Brushing past her, he walked out and closed the door.
Lizzie sat back down on the bed. She felt sick. She wished she did have the moral right to throw Richard and his Louis Vuitton collection out on the street — but then, wouldn’t she be feeling even worse? That was the only saving grace. Richard hadn’t been unfaithful to her. He couldn’t be. Bad manners were all she had to accuse him of. If she were angry, it was only because he’d been so — how had Jules put it, exactly? — fucking rude. It was almost as though— Lizzie stopped herself. She was being ridiculous: of course Richard wasn’t trying to hurt her. Why would he? The truth was that he probably hadn’t thought about her at all.
‘Mum?’ Ella stuck her head around the door. ‘Is everything okay?’
‘Of course it is, darling. Come in and close the door. Now,’ she patted the bed beside her, ‘how are things with you?’
Ella sat down. Lizzie took in the wet hair, bare face and old tracksuit pants. ‘I take it you’re not going back to Blackpeak today?’
‘Um, no.’ Ella tucked her feet under Lizzie’s duvet. ‘I don’t think I’ll be going back at all.’
‘Oh dear.’ She searched her daughter’s face. ‘What happened?’
Lizzie listened as the sorry story of Ella’s night with Vito emerged. Hmm. Ella was leaving something important out, she could tell, and Lizzie had a fair idea what it was — or rather, whom. But she kept her ideas to herself; what more could she add on that subject?
‘I feel so awful.’ Ella slumped back against Lizzie’s pillows. ‘It never even occurred to me that I could hurt him.’
‘I’m sorry, darling.’ She put her hand on Ella’s knee. ‘Boys have feelings, too, you know. Even pretty ones.’
Some of them, at least.
‘Am I the worst person in the world?’
