by Sasha Wasley
The snaky printer. Free hadn’t touched the thing since Thursday. ‘Oh, yeah.’
‘Are you getting rid of it? Because the kids’ literacy centre is asking for unwanted computer equipment and we take donations for them down at the station. I could take it for you, if you want.’
‘Ah, gotcha. Well, I don’t really want to give it away because it’s quite a good one. Only, it’s got a snake in it.’
His eyebrows shot up. ‘Pardon?’
‘A snake.’
Finn stared at the device. ‘There’s a snake in your printer?’
Free nodded, stepping out onto the porch. ‘I know, right? I only left it out for a few days and a snake got in, somehow. I nearly peed my pants when I opened the cover and there it was.’ She clutched her hands together, making a face. ‘I’m too scared to open it and see if it’s gone. I’ll wait until someone else can deal with it for me.’
‘Fair enough. Wildlife, huh?’ Finn shook his head. ‘It gets in everywhere. We’ve got a possum in the roof at work. Scared the hell out of me, thumping around when I was there by myself one night. I thought there was a break-in – either that or the place was haunted. And there are bats that hang in a tree out the front of the station.’
Free chuckled. ‘That’s the Kimberley for you.’
There was a silence. Would he make a move to go? Finn shifted his weight and hitched a hand in one pocket.
‘Did you have a good time at the pub last night?’
‘Yes, it was fun,’ she said, her hope rising. ‘I’ve got a job at the high school. The teachers wanted to go for a drink to celebrate the new school year.’
‘Or drown their sorrows at the end of school holidays?’
She smiled. ‘Maybe. I drank a little too much – but I wasn’t driving or anything. Max drove us home.’
He didn’t appear to be judging her. ‘I would have liked to stay on at Mounties but Sarge said we were leaving. He’d caught a couple of barra earlier in the week. He cooked them up for us on the barbecue back at his place.’
‘Nice.’ She bit her thumbnail. ‘Do – do you want to come in? I could make you a cuppa.’
Finn’s face lit up but he hesitated. ‘Are you sure it’s okay?’
In answer, she pushed open the screen door to let him in. He manoeuvred past her and accidentally brushed her arm with his, setting Free’s heart racing in the process. Everything about this guy was big, warm and strong. She was tingling all over just from that one meaningless touch.
Finn’s eye fell on her packing boxes. ‘Not fully moved in yet?’
Free tried to focus on his words. ‘No, only got here a couple of weeks ago. Sorry, I know it’s a mess.’
‘This isn’t a mess. You should have seen my place when I first moved in.’
‘I should unpack but I keep getting distracted.’ She flicked on the kettle and rinsed out a couple of mugs.
‘By what?’
‘By a painting that I’m right in the middle of doing.’
‘You paint?’
‘Yeah, I’m an artist – well, aspiring artist. I’m doing a residency at the school. That’s why I’ve got myself a government duplex to live in.’
‘I’m always in awe of artistic people. I can’t even draw a stick figure that looks like a stick figure.’ Finn watched her drying the mugs. ‘Could I see the painting?’
‘Oh – um, okay. Yeah.’
She abandoned the tea-making and led Finn to the studio. It was always strange showing her art to people she didn’t know very well, and Free hardly ever let anyone see her works in progress. She almost changed her mind halfway down the hall – but that would be crazy.
Free twitched the easel round to face Finn more fully and pretended to be busy tidying up brushes before steeling herself to check his reaction. He was gazing at her painting, a frown on his face. She waited. He doesn’t like it. She tended towards abstract styles and some people didn’t appreciate that sort of thing. The pause went on so long she eventually folded.
‘It’s a section of rock along the Herne River.’
‘Talbot Gorge. I know it,’ Finn said, his eyes locked on the canvas. ‘Wow. It’s amazing. The red of the rocks and the green of the water – perfect.’
Free was silenced. He recognised Talbot Gorge from her semi-completed impressionist painting?
‘I know it’s not finished, but the colour is . . .’ Finn bent right down close to the painting and then moved back. ‘Amazing. I just – the light. How did you make it look like that? Like it’s glowing off the canvas?’
Free had been overpraised by suitors in the past, but this was different. Finn was mesmerised. He was moving from side to side to catch her painting from all angles, almost as though he’d forgotten she was there. Free felt a wave of emotion. There was something deeply honest and real about this man. She watched as he admired her painting, and was speechless at the power of his response.
‘You’re incredibly talented,’ he said, his eyes landing on hers so suddenly that her heart stuttered.
Free scrambled to recover. ‘Rubbish. The sky’s all wrong, as usual.’
He returned to the painting. ‘Well, I like it – but I know what you mean. It’s not quite the right blue.’
‘Mount Clair’s sky is distinctive. I’ve never been able to reproduce it.’
‘It’s close enough. I’d say you’ll nail it one day. But it doesn’t really matter because this is bloody extraordinary.’ He glanced at the floor. ‘Hey, the government housing people are pretty lenient, I’ve heard, but they could freak out if you get paint and turps all over the carpet. It might be an idea to lay a drop sheet down in here.’
Free looked down. He was right – there were spatters of paint and oily turpentine drips marking the carpet. ‘Yeah, good idea. I will.’
He followed her back down the hall to the kitchen. She still felt trembly, but managed to make them cups of tea without spilling anything. He took three sugars in his tea, which made her laugh.
‘I used to think people arbitrarily gave up sugar when they hit adulthood,’ she said. ‘I stopped taking sugar in tea and coffee when I turned eighteen, and spent the next year hating the taste of both before I finally got used to it.’
‘I’m not planning on growing up,’ he said.
‘I don’t think I could, even if I wanted to,’ she answered with a grin.
They sat at her little four-seater wooden table with their mugs, Free sweeping crumbs away with a hasty hand.
‘How does your residency work?’ he said.
‘Well, the local government is putting a public artwork at the entry to the town – a tile wall. They wanted to involve Mount Clair kids, so they’ve contracted a couple of artists-in-residence for the high school. The idea is that we help the kids come up with a concept and design, and then oversee the actual creation of the tiles. I really wanted to take part when I heard about it. In fact, if I hadn’t got a residency, I would have volunteered in some way. I was busting to be involved. I was lucky, though, and I got a contract. Aidan Hamilton is the other artist. He’s a Perth guy. We’ve both done quite a bit of ceramic work and have other specialisations they want us to share with the students.’
‘What are your specialisations?’ he asked.
‘Oils and charcoal for me. Sculpture and acrylics for Aidan.’ She’d resisted up till now but her eyes wandered over his muscular shoulders.
Finn saw.
‘Um, I was just looking at the badge thing on your shoulder,’ she said hurriedly. ‘Briggsy’s is different, isn’t it? What does it mean?’
‘My epaulets? My rank is constable, so it’s blank, no stripes. Briggsy’s a senior sergeant so he’s got the three stripes and a crown.’
‘How long have you been a cop?’
‘I just finished my probation not long ago, and applied for a few different country postings. They offered me Mount Clair and I moved here in November.’
‘You’re from Perth, didn’t you say?’
Finn gave a nod. ‘I am, yep. My family lives there – well, my mum and dad do, anyway. My sister got married a couple of years ago and moved overseas to be with her husband.’
‘You must miss them,’ she said. ‘How long do you think you’ll be in Mount Clair?’
‘I do miss them but I kind of like it here. The people are so welcoming. It feels like home already.’
‘I’ve always wanted to know – is it interesting, police work?’ Free asked. ‘The TV shows seem to suggest it’s loads of action, rolling around on the ground, tackling people, and shooting at cars and stuff. Either that or lots of boring paperwork.’
Her words made him laugh.
‘Yep, sometimes exciting, sometimes boring. Sometimes rewarding and sometimes frustrating, but I like it. I can’t imagine doing anything else.’
‘What does your average day’s work look like?’ she asked.
He told her about some of the situations he’d attended in recent times and Free asked questions, intrigued. When he mentioned Briggsy, the conversation turned to their mutual friends. Free told Finn the story of Willow and Tom. He knew Tom through Briggsy, and had heard about Tom’s helicopter crash, but was interested in hearing Free’s version of events. What felt like a few minutes of talking was, in fact, two hours before Free noticed the time. She jumped up.
‘Oh no! I was going to go down to the school and get some work done.’
He was on his feet immediately, apologising for taking up her time.
‘No, don’t be sorry,’ she said with a rueful smile. ‘It’s me. I have no sense of time. That’s what my sisters always say. If I’m enjoying myself, I’m even worse than usual.’
His warm eyes glowed. ‘I enjoyed myself too.’
Free was suddenly very aware of his manly strength – the way his uniform shirt stretched across his chest and clearly visible biceps. This guy didn’t look gym-ripped, either. He was simply naturally built. What did his chest look like under that shirt?
‘Maybe I could just go into work tomorrow instead,’ she said.
‘No, don’t let me stop you from what you need to do.’ Finn pocketed his phone. ‘Anyway, I’ve had a long day. I’d better go clean myself up and get some rest.’
He seemed clean to Free, but she could hardly argue with him needing rest. They stepped out onto the porch, where Max greeted them with his distinctive meow.
‘It’s such a coincidence that you live here,’ Finn said.
‘Yep, me and Maxie.’ She nudged the cat and he rubbed himself against her skirt. ‘Why do you say that? Because you happened to knock on my door?’
‘No, because I live here too!’ Finn pointed at the door of the other unit in the duplex, just a few steps away. ‘I’m in 17B.’
Free gaped. ‘You are? You’re my neighbour? That’s amazing!’
Her spirits went into a mad dance to think she had this delightful man living right on her doorstep. It’s meant to be! Finn stood looking at her for a few seconds, his eyes roaming over her face as though he wanted to say something else. Something like When will I see you again? Free’s pulse accelerated and she waited, hardly breathing.
But Finn simply turned away with a light ‘Well, see you around!’
He descended her porch stairs in one step and bounded up his own.
‘Bye,’ she called as he went inside.
It was only when she was in her car on the way to the school that she realised something incredible.
Finn must be her phantom next-door singer.
Jay finished recounting Free’s artist biography and looked around at the Year Elevens.
‘So, Miss Paterson will be sharing all of that expertise with you throughout the semester, and I’m sure I don’t need to remind you what an opportunity this is for you all. Not only will you be working with a professional artist, you’ll also have your names associated with a major public art installation in Mount Clair for decades – perhaps longer.’
The sixteen- and seventeen-year-olds – twelve of them in total – were duly impressed.
‘Questions?’ Jay added.
A hand shot up. ‘Will we get paid for the public artwork, Miss?’
Jay chuckled. ‘Sorry, Cameron, not this time. But all our materials are paid for.’
‘Do we get to choose the topic that the wall’s going to be about?’ asked a girl.
‘Yes. We want the theme to come from you, then our artists-in-residence will prepare a final concept and submit it to the project committee for approval.’
‘But we get to have input, right?’ Cameron pressed.
Free nodded. ‘Definitely. I want you to have total ownership of the design.’
Jay interjected, more cautious. ‘The design needs to be of a certain standard for the committee to approve it, which is why we have professional artists leading the way.’
A girl with straight, dark hair raised her hand. Jay nodded at her with a faint look of surprise. ‘Tia?’
Tia turned to Free. ‘How did you get the job at the Victoria and Albert?’ she asked in a soft voice.
Free couldn’t hide her grin. ‘Oh, wow. Good question! I was dating this Brit dude, right? Nothing serious, but he was, like, a lord or something. Son of a lord, maybe. Honestly? The guy had a carrot up his bum, but he was nice-looking. Classic fair-haired English aristocracy. I reckon he was rebelling against Mummy and Daddy by dating an Aussie farm girl like me. Anyway, his aunty worked at the V-and-A, high up. Senior curator. They had an international exhibition coming to the gallery and she was hiring temp staff to manage bump-in, but one of the temps fell through on the day unpacking started, so Harold – that was the bum-carrot guy – he put me forward. It was the most amazing thing! I mean, the work itself wasn’t amazing. We just had to unpack stuff, document it, wipe down the frames and glass, and make sure it got delivered to the right part of the exhibition. But going in every day, and being able to tell people I worked at the V-and-A? That was amazing!’ She shook her head at the memory.
Jay stared, but the class, which had been giggling sporadically as Free spoke, burst into laughter. At length, Jay cracked a smile too.
‘Well, at least we know we’ll get honest answers from Miss Paterson,’ she told the students.
Hmm, maybe she shouldn’t have said that about Harold having a carrot up his bum . . .
Jay handed the class over and Free almost froze in terror, but breathed again when she saw that Jay was staying to assist. She told the students they would be building on their landscape skills in advance of some oil painting work planned for the first part of term, and took them outside with pencils and sketchpads, taking advantage of a break in the rain.
‘Just find somewhere to sit and sketch what you see. Say, sixty to eighty degrees field of vision.’ There were some puzzled looks so Free elaborated. ‘If the world around you was a clock and you were sitting in the middle, you just want to draw about two hours – three o’clock to five o’clock, for instance.’
They understood that, and found spots to perch so they could get started. Free called out instructions, taking them through the steps she followed to sketch a landscape.
‘Mark the boundaries of your scene with your eyes, and sketch the whole scene super fast. Then focus on one bit. A tree. A post. The footpath. Just try to get that one bit right.’
She walked around with her camera and got each student to photograph the scene they were sketching. Then, before the heat got too uncomfortable, Free took them back inside and used the smartboard to show them the work of seminal landscape artists in a slide show. She tried to stick to her script, which was based on curriculum materials provided by Jay – but couldn’t help interjecting her own thoughts throughout.
‘Turner! He’s a god to me. See the light? Have any of you worked with oils much? No? Oils are so bloody hard to learn, but worth it, because I reckon it’s the only medium that allows you to capture the light like this. Oh. My. God. Look at it. Look.’ Some giggles rose and Free spun around to look a
t the students, half scandalised and half laughing. ‘Seriously, you guys. Turner.’
Some of them were nodding, she was glad to see. They got it. Jay grinned at her from where she sat in the corner with a laptop.
The class concluded with a discussion of perspective and proportion – more of a refresher on what they’d already learned in previous years than anything else. As they packed up, Free encouraged them to start brainstorming for a tile wall theme.
‘We’ve got about two weeks to smash out a concept before we move on to the design stage, so you need to get thinking. I’d love for the concept to come from one of my students.’
The kids went to lunch and Free looked at Jay apprehensively, but the woman wore a smile.
‘Great session, Free. I love how you adapted the content to give it a more personal feel. And well done on getting Tia talking!’
‘Who?’
‘Dark-haired girl, Tia Kaneko. She hardly ever speaks, but she asked you a question straight up, and even contributed during the slide show. Okay, she’s Year Eleven now and she might finally be coming out of her shell, but I suspect it’s more that you’ve put her at ease with your chilled-out teaching style. Nice work!’
Free waited for the sting in the tail of Jay’s praise – but the woman was done.
‘Catch you in the staffroom shortly,’ was all she said, turning away to collect her papers.
In the staffroom, Free pulled out the apple and packet of crackers she’d shoved into her bag that morning. She gazed around the table enviously. Everyone else had such delicious-looking lunches. Mrs Woodley was tucking in to a piece of lasagne she’d reheated in its Tupperware container, and Max had a pie. Aidan joined Free, giving her one of his tight-faced smiles. The things that had been said about him on Friday night came into Free’s head. How does he sleep at night, knowing his career is a sham? She shook herself. She mustn’t assume anything without giving him a chance. Perhaps there was some mistake. Misinformation, or exaggeration in the rumours.
Aidan opened up his lunch – an exquisite collection of sushi pieces in a compartmentalised lunch box. He unscrewed a tiny vial of soy sauce and poured it over his lunch, glancing up at Free.
