by Sasha Wasley
At home, the cat was waiting to be let inside. She flicked on the air conditioning and made her way to the studio to stare at her painting. It needed something. The blue of the sky nagged at her but trying to fix that was pointless. She had to accept she couldn’t get it just right.
‘Max,’ said Max, appearing at her feet.
Free crouched down to give his chin a good rub. This close to the floor, she noticed the carpet. Oh heck! She’d wrecked the floor covering under her easel. Why the hell hadn’t she put down a drop sheet when Finn suggested it a couple of weeks ago? Thinking about him made a lonely wind blow through her. She hadn’t seen him at all since yesterday morning. If anything she’d avoided him, increasingly embarrassed about her clumsy pass at him after the wedding.
As if he’d heard her thinking about him, Finn made a noise in his unit. He must have just arrived home and was banging around and humming as he settled in after work. Free steeled herself. She had to get back on the horse – face him again before it became too awkward. Apologise for making him uncomfortable, and show him she was willing to simply be his friend. For now. She almost went out the front immediately to knock on his door, but lost courage. A text message, maybe? Dammit, she didn’t even have his number. She looked him up and found Finn Kelly on Facebook.
The profile photo showed Finn holding a baby freshwater crocodile. She knew exactly where that had been taken. Snapper Gooding’s Herne River Cruises – the guy did twilight jaunts along the river and occasionally jumped into the water to snaffle a little croc so the tourists could pose with it. Free zoomed in as far as she could. As always, Finn’s eyes were full of warmth and fun. That familiar sense of happiness washed through her and she wanted to kick herself. Why couldn’t she just take no for an answer with this guy?
Maybe she should friend him. Screw it, what’s the worst that could happen? She hit ‘Add Friend’ and within moments a notification popped up to say he’d accepted. Free sent him a direct message.
Hi, Finn. I just wanted to say thanks again for the lift home on Saturday night, and thanks for putting up with my crazy family forcing you to stay for the wedding.
He began typing a reply. She waited, sipping water and biting her thumbnail.
Anytime. Sorry about the backseat drama. And I enjoyed the wedding.
There was a long pause while he wrote something else, as though he were typing something longwinded – but when it was over, only four words appeared.
You guys looked amazing.
Thank you! And don’t be sorry – you had no control over backseat drama. Free took a breath. I suspect it wasn’t the only thing that made you uncomfortable that night.
Another long typing pause while she munched peanuts feverishly and listened to her pulse hammer in her ears.
Nah, it was all fine. Things can be confusing sometimes, huh?
You said it, she wrote back, relieved.
Briggsy’s set on going to Talbot Gorge Sunday. You still interested?
Of course!
He sent her a smiley face. We’ll ALL go, yeah?
He must be inviting some others, too. Good plan: approach with caution. He could get to know her among friends.
Sounds great, she replied. BYO bathers and towel!
Done.
Okay, I’d better go. I just realised I have totally mucked up the carpet in my studio. I’m going to look up some old-fashioned carpet cleaning remedies.
Hey – on that, I have the best news for you, Finn wrote back. Can I come around for a minute?
Of course! she answered.
Free jumped up to open the door and found Finn stepping out of his door at the same moment. His ever-present smile grew as he bounded up the porch steps to join her.
‘Are you here by yourself?’
Her heart jumped up and attempted to block her windpipe. ‘Yes . . .’
‘Come with me.’
He made for her studio and Free scurried after him. Once there, he knelt down beside the patch of ruined carpet and felt around in the loop pile as though searching for something tiny he’d lost. But a moment later, he wedged his nails in and lifted a whole piece of carpet up. Free gasped and Finn looked up at her with a grin of triumph.
‘They’re tiles. Carpet tiles! I noticed it at my place and remembered you have the same carpet here.’
‘Oh my God, Finn! You’re a freakin’ genius!’
He laughed. ‘Just a random discovery. Pretty handy, though, don’t you reckon?’
She nodded wildly. ‘I can replace them!’
Finn looked doubtful. ‘Well, maybe. New ones might not match because these are already a bit worn and faded. But we can switch them round, put the bad ones in a wardrobe or under some furniture. That way, the housing mob might go easier on you, or not even worry about it when you vacate.’
She caught his eye. ‘This is the best news I’ve had all week.’
He shrugged off her gratitude. ‘Now, let’s do something about protecting the floor in here. Would you object to working on a lino mat?’
‘Pardon?’
‘Wait here.’
She waited, increasingly amazed by his kindness – and even after her unwelcome come-on. When Finn returned, he was carrying a roll of linoleum, around two metres wide, and some tape.
‘This is a cast-off from work. They’re renovating the station kitchen.’
He went into action, carefully placing her easel in a corner, moving her roller trolley and shuffling her tubs and toolboxes full of paints and supplies to the back wall. Then he unrolled the lino – scratched and worn but clean – and taped down the edges so they would lie flat, before replacing everything where it had been. Free watched the process in open-mouthed astonishment.
Finn turned to her. ‘What do you think? Could you live with that?’
Approach with caution? Screw that. She threw herself at him, hugging him hard.
‘Thank you!’ she managed.
‘Oh no – are you crying again?’ Finn extricated himself, laughing uncertainly.
‘Leaky eyes.’ She wiped them and looked up to find him watching her with a slightly crooked smile. ‘That’s one of the kindest things anyone’s ever done for me.’
‘Bullshit.’ But his smile widened.
‘You’re a special guy, you know that?’
He looked away. ‘You’ve gotta finish that painting now. That’s the trade-off.’
‘It’s yours when it’s done.’
‘I’ll buy it,’ he said quickly.
‘No way!’ She shot him a faux glare. ‘It’s a thankyou. You’ve really looked after me since we met. You’ve cooked for me, chauffeured me and even saved me from myself with this lino mat.’
He set his gaze on the painting. ‘I’d love to have it,’ he said, his face softening.
The power of the feeling that wound up inside Free almost took her breath away. Watching Finn gaze admiringly at her painting, after he’d just done something incredibly thoughtful for her – and standing there being so damn tall . . . it made a wave of intense emotion sweep through her. She turned away in confusion.
‘Um, want a drink?’
He paused. ‘No, thanks. I won’t stay. I’ve got stuff to do – and you’ve got a painting to work on.’
She was glad of his light tone, even if she was disappointed by his answer. ‘Thanks again, Finn. You’re the best. Truly.’
He dismissed her thanks with a wave of his hand. ‘See you later.’
She saw him out the door and sat at the table, thinking about Finn. Trying not to think about Finn.
Crap.
Jay was right about the delay. Aidan didn’t sign the scoping document until Thursday, which meant that Jay, who played badminton on Thursday afternoons, couldn’t get it to the shire office until Friday afternoon. They’d lost a whole week because of his oversight – which Jay considered a malicious move.
On Saturday morning, Free woke to a banging at her front door. She pulled on her kimono and went to answer it
, searching for an accurate clock as she went. She still hadn’t set the microwave clock, and only God knew where her phone was. She reached the front door. Whoops – not locked again.
Cameron and Tia stood on her porch.
‘You still in bed, Miss Patz?’ Cameron said with a grin.
‘I told you we shouldn’t have come,’ Tia murmured, colouring.
‘Oh, hey, you two! You’re here to paint? Come in!’
Free checked if they needed drinks and then led them to her studio, breathing a sigh of relief that kids didn’t generally judge you on cleanliness.
‘Okay, got your canvases? Did you bring easels?’
‘Nah, we rode our bikes here,’ said Cameron. ‘We can just work on the table.’
She set up a card table and found a desk easel for Tia – Cameron said he was happy working flat on the table – and gave them a pile of rags and a jar of turpentine. Tia set up her materials in a row.
‘Ooh, new paints?’ Free asked.
Tia nodded. ‘My dad was in Perth last week. He got some oils for me, since I’ve been talking about them so much. Same ones as yours.’
‘Tia said I could borrow them,’ Cameron added. ‘She didn’t want me bludging off you.’
Free chuckled. ‘That’s pretty cool of you, Tia. Look, there’s more turps over here, and spatulas, palettes, scrapers, pokers, pointers, prodders and anything else you can think of, all in a big fat mess in this toolbox. Help yourself to any of them. I’ll get myself dressed and have some breakfast, and then I’ll join you.’
‘I like your floor,’ said Tia, seeing the lino. ‘I’m going to tell my mum. She might be able to get some second-hand lino from somewhere.’
‘It’s clever, isn’t it?’ Free agreed.
She left them to paint and went for her shower. It was eleven already, she discovered when she dug her phone out of the bedclothes. She must have fallen asleep while messaging with international friends last night. Then it was music videos with toast and coffee, so it was a good forty minutes before Free joined the kids. Cameron had barely touched his canvas but Tia had made strong progress. Tia was silent while Free got set up, but when Cameron came to peer over Free’s shoulder, curiosity won. She joined them.
‘Is that a local place?’ Tia asked, staring at the scene.
‘Yes, Talbot Gorge.’
‘I know that place,’ said Cameron. ‘Good fishing, especially now the Herne’s been buggered up by the dam.’
Free made a face. ‘I went to a rally to stop the dam in December, but it’s starting to look like it will all go ahead, no matter what we do. Breaks my heart.’
‘You went to that Save the River thing, did ya?’ Cameron looked impressed. ‘I wanted to go, but Mum said no. She’s paranoid I’ll get in trouble.’
‘What do you mean, in trouble?’ Tia asked.
‘With the cops. My older brothers, they’ve both done time.’ Cameron looked self-conscious. ‘Mum’s deadset on keeping me outta trouble. Her brother, my uncle – he died in jail. Y’know. Suicide.’
‘Oh, Cam, I’m so sorry,’ Free said.
‘One of my brothers is much better now. Settled down. But the other one’s into all kinds of bad shit. Mum swore she’d keep me safe and out of prison, or die trying.’
‘I understand,’ said Free. ‘But there’s no reason why you’d get into trouble at a peaceful protest. Save the River got loud, but never violent. Going to demonstrations is so important. I went to the most amazing rally in the States, at a university. It was about marriage equality. We sang songs, and linked arms and lit candles, all while conservatives and fundamentalists shouted at us. I never felt more inspired.’
Their two young faces were also bright with inspiration. Free smiled at them, filling with pleasure to see their honest energy. Change-makers in training, she thought.
Tia turned her attention back to Free’s painting. ‘This is amazing. I wish I could paint like you. How do you get the rocks to look so liney? Kind of streaked . . .’
‘Striated?’
Free demonstrated the technique on some scrap paper, and then several more that might help Tia. The girl returned to her little easel, and Free came to stand at her shoulder, giving suggestions while Tia tried the new techniques on her canvas. Free was impressed. Tia learned lightning-fast, and had plenty of natural understanding of light and shade.
Cameron was a different matter. Oils were not his comfort zone and he fidgeted around, doing anything other than getting stuck in to his painting. Why had Cameron been so keen to come along? He was more interested in inspecting the studio, hovering around Tia while she tried to paint, and telling them stories about fishing and swimming at Talbot Gorge. He didn’t seem to mind that Free and Tia were both too immersed in their work to reply with more than the occasional grunt of acknowledgement.
It was after four when Tia finally finished up. She looked startled by the lateness and apologised to Free, who waved a casual hand.
‘Seriously, it was great! Come back any time. I got loads done on my painting, too. It was fun to have you here.’
Tia left her painting at Free’s place to dry and Free promised to bring it to school for her. Cameron’s was still dry enough to transport, so he shoved it rather carelessly into his bag and they rode off together on their bikes.
She’d enjoyed their company. Maybe she should join a local artist’s group so she could paint among others. The last time she’d been in a group, there was a touchy-feely older bloke there who’d given her the absolute creeps. He kept trying to come over and show her how to do things. After two sessions, she’d opted not to go back.
Maybe she could just hold her own little open studio sessions on weekends and invite people to come paint? She could even offer classes for school students. She had a brief vision of herself supervising a room full of kids happily painting, while she offered help and advice. Free filed the idea away for the future, when she had her own place and grew out of being unreliable.
She tidied the studio, then went to her wardrobe, where she spent an inordinate amount of time planning an outfit for tomorrow’s trip to Talbot Gorge.
Sunday morning was overcast but dry. Free clambered over the divider onto Finn’s porch and banged on the door. He answered a moment later.
‘Ready?’ she asked, bouncing a little with excitement.
‘Yep.’ He scanned beyond her, perhaps checking the sky for impending rain. ‘Is it just us?’
‘Yeah – and Briggsy and Kate, right? Don’t forget your bathers. I’ll bring the car out.’
She dashed for the garage. Finn met her on the road and climbed into the passenger side of her little car. When he was seated beside her, Free burst into laughter.
‘What?’ he said, a smile starting at the corners of his mouth.
‘You! Look at you!’
He looked down at his own knees, sitting well above the level of his hips. He was holding his elbows in tight as well, and his head brushed the ceiling of the car.
‘Yeah, I don’t always fit so well into little Matchbox cars like this.’
She scoffed. ‘It’s the car’s issue, not yours, right? You’re not a benevolent giant.’
‘Of course not.’
They headed to Briggsy’s place and parked on the verge. Finn went to knock on the door while Free loaded her camera, bathers and towel into a backpack. When she climbed out, slapping a hat onto her head, Finn came back towards her, a set of car keys in his hand. His brow was furrowed.
‘What’s wrong?’
He indicated Briggsy’s vehicle with his head and she went for the back seat but Finn climbed into the driver’s seat. She deposited her backpack and joined him in the front.
‘What’s going on?’
‘Sarge wants us to go to the gorge without them. He said they’ve realised they’ve got a few things to do today.’ He caught her eye and dropped his voice. ‘I think there’s trouble going down.’
‘Oh no.’ But Free couldn’t help a littl
e flicker of delight. She would have Finn all to herself for the trip. ‘What a shame. You don’t mind still going, just us?’
‘Of course not.’
They discussed their work weeks as they drove the forty minutes out of town towards Talbot Gorge. Finn seemed to relax as they chatted, and even made a noise of excitement when she told him about the art-supplies ordering she’d be doing for the school and Jay.
‘That could be a nice little income stream,’ he said. ‘Becoming a local distributor for Bostons, I mean.’
‘Yeah, I suppose it could. I might look into it after my contract at the school ends.’
They reached an unsealed road that led into increasingly rocky terrain. Free was filled with admiration for Finn’s four-wheel-driving skills. There was water everywhere but he navigated the mud and streams like a pro.
‘You’ve certainly picked this up quickly. Hey, look up ahead. The river crossing is underwater.’
Finn pulled up and Free jumped out, snatching her camera off the back seat. She crouched at the edge of the water and snapped a series of photos of the red water swirling through rocks and furrows. Currents, flux, stirred-up sediment. It was like blood pumping through veins. Free adjusted her lens and tried to capture the waterline, fluid sucking at the dried edges of the red clay.
Finn spoke. ‘You really love the river, don’t you?’
She looked up from her task. ‘Who doesn’t?’
‘You seem to have a special connection.’
Free snapped a couple more shots and stood. ‘Yes. I don’t know what it is. It just makes me feel . . .’ She stopped, unable to find the words.
Finn waited.
‘Like there’s more to the world than meets the eye,’ she said at last, knowing it was hopelessly inadequate as an explanation.
He didn’t answer and she felt a little stupid. She sneaked a glance and found him gazing at the water. Free took heart. Finn’s face showed he understood.
She headed back to the vehicle, placing her camera on the back seat. ‘Are you going to be okay with crossing, do you think?’
Finn checked the water gauge at the side of the creek. ‘Yes, this is pretty shallow. I might just wade through it first to make sure there are no surprises. I wouldn’t want to wreck Briggsy’s car.’ He looked at his shoes.
