by Maya Linnell
‘Voilà!’ Evie said, stepping back to give her mum the once-over.
Lara walked into the bathroom with a growing sense of trepidation. Letting Evie talk her into a makeover was either going to be a great idea, or downright terrible. She looked at her watch and noted with relief that there would be enough time to scrub it all off if needed. Just.
But when she looked in the mirror, the woman staring back at her wasn’t at all what she expected. She was soft and feminine, and whatever Evie had done with the eyeshadow had brought out the green in her eyes. Her daughter had stuck to the ‘low key’ brief all except for her lips, and although they were brighter than she was used to, the rose-pink colour didn’t look half bad. At least it wasn’t that sticky lip balm.
Annabel’s mauve wrap dress came to her knees and Lara had a feeling it would twirl a little if she spun around.
Not that there’ll be any twirling.
‘I’m a miracle worker, aren’t I?’ Evie declared, stepping into the bathroom with a silver shawl Penny had sent her from Turkey many moons ago.
‘Ha! Con artist is the word that springs to mind, but it’ll do.’ With a quick reload of the wood fire, a small serve of mince for the magpie and a pat for Basil, they locked the house and headed to the car.
‘Bugger. This is why I don’t wear high heels,’ said Lara as soon as she veered off the path. She tugged her heel out of the soft ground and walked the rest of the way to the car on tiptoe.
Lara stole another look in the Subaru’s rear-view mirror as she reversed out of the carport, and quickly drew the shawl a little higher around her neck.
‘It looks great, Mum. You look great. Every bloke with a ticket will be fighting for a whirl around the dance floor,’ said Evie, squirming to get comfortable in the black pencil skirt Penny had lent her for the night.
‘I’ll be long gone by the time the dancing starts, and I’ll pick you up the second all the waitressing is finished, right?’
‘But can’t I stay—’
‘No ifs, buts or maybes, Miss Evie. We’ve got a big weekend ahead, and a singles ball isn’t the place for loitering teenagers. You, Cam and Holly will see plenty of each other at the bonfire tomorrow and then the fun run, I promise.’
The newspaper office had been a hive of activity all Friday, with locals stopping by to shoot the breeze, a rush of stories and adverts filed in advance for next week’s paper and the phone ringing off the hook with last-minute arrangements for the fun run.
‘Busy morning, boss?’ said Nancy, meandering in through the front door after another longer-than-allocated lunchbreak.
‘Flat strap. Can you hold the calls for an hour? I’ve got to get this edition sorted.’
‘Sure thing,’ Nancy replied breezily, slowly scooping the change off the edge of the bench. She counted it and entered it into the cash register.
Not quite sure she would remember, Toby Blu-Tacked a ‘DO NOT DISTURB; INTERVIEW IN PROGRESS’ sign on the door of his office and put his noise-cancelling headphones on, hoping classical music would aid the few thousand words that stood between him and the deadline. Sunday afternoons were normally his front-page writing sessions, but with the ball, the bonfire and the fun run, he needed to have the article and the first inside spread nailed well before then.
With Beethoven and Chopin in his ear, Toby had the first three pages drafted and the inside content emailed to the typesetters before 4 p.m.
‘Done and dusted,’ he said, shrugging off the headphones and closing down his desktop computer.
Toby headed into Hamilton, arriving just as Holly’s bus pulled in. He briefed her on the order of events and her volunteer duties as they drove home.
‘The CWA ladies will give you instructions, but follow Evie’s lead and see if you can snap a few pictures between courses, right Lollypop?’
Holly laughed, tossing her curly hair as they pulled up at his house.
‘Relax, Dad. It’s waitressing for a singles ball, not silver service at Buckingham Palace,’ she said. ‘Though Granny would completely freak out if I ever scored that type of gig.’
‘You’re not wrong,’ Toby agreed.
He pulled together a quick dinner with fresh bread, heaping on thin slices of roasted McIntyre Park beef and locally made preserves. Once again, he was thankful the general store—and the little produce stall—were in good hands.
‘Delicious,’ said Holly, helping herself to another piece.
‘Extra special because it’s been made with love, all here in Bridgefield,’ Toby said, proudly.
‘We’ll have to send Granny back with some of the McIntyres’ sausages after the fun run.’
Toby paused, one hand on the dishwashing detergent, one on the scrubbing brush.
‘They’re coming on Sunday?’
Holly took the soapy plate from his hand.
‘Yep, I suggested it. Granny’s itching to get out of the house.’
Holly smiled brightly, pleased with herself, unable to grasp the extra layer of stress she had just added to his weekend. His father would be coming too. And Queenie, the little chihuahua papillon cross. Toby would need eyes in the back of his head to make sure nothing went awry.
He mulled over the news as he shaved. But after a quick blast of shampoo and a lather of shower gel, he realised there was nothing he could do about it. If his mum had made up her mind, there was little chance of changing it.
Toby finished in the shower and stopped in his tracks when he caught sight of the clothes laid out on his bed.
What the—
The lapels on the powder-blue suit were ridiculously oversized, like something John Travolta had worn in Saturday Night Fever, with short sleeves and chunky buttons. He lifted the hem of the wide-legged pants—they were almost twice the width he normally favoured.
Not happening.
He pulled a pair of jocks on, grabbed the first two almost-matching socks he could find and flung open the wardrobe doors.
Empty coat hangers swung on the rack. He reefed open the drawers. Only sportswear remained.
You’ve got to be joking.
Toby refastened the towel around his waist before marching down the hallway.
‘Holly! Where the hell are my clothes?’
His glare was met with a cheeky grin. Holly lifted her hands in surrender.
‘It was Aunty Belinda’s idea, not mine.’
‘It’s not a dress-up party. Where are my other suits and shirts?’
Holly looked down at her black skirt and toyed with a button on her white shirt.
‘I put them all in the washing machine.’
Damn Belinda to hell.
‘You did what? I don’t have time for pranks, Holly. We need to get to the hall before everyone starts arriving.’
Despite his frustration, Toby mustered up what he hoped was an encouraging smile.
‘C’mon, Lollypop. Stop joking around. We’ve gotta go.’
‘Aunty Bel said to hide them or do something that would make them unwearable. And they’re all on the gentle cycle. She said you’d be too chicken to wear the safari suit if there were other options. It’s your size and everything.’
He groaned. He should probably consider himself fortunate that Belinda hadn’t driven down from Ballarat, confiscated his clothes and donated them to an op shop on her way home.
‘You’d better have left me something to wear tomorrow?’
Holly nodded vigorously. ‘Yep, I definitely did.’
He looked at his watch. They were skating on thin ice now.
‘Well, give me those and I’ll go casual tonight. Quick!’
Holly squirmed and put down her hairbrush. Her face crinkled with apology.
‘I put them through the wash while you were making dinner. They’re already on the clothesline.’
It was like an April fool’s prank gone wrong. Toby spun around and stalked back to his room. A tumble dryer would be useful right about now.
‘For God’s sake! I’ll w
ear it, but Aunty Bel won’t hear the end of this.’
The safari-suit looked even worse than he’d imagined. He let out an exasperated sigh, and when he breathed in, he caught a whiff of mothballs. Any thoughts he’d had of wooing Lara McIntyre went down the gurgler.
Twenty-two
Lara felt a little flutter as she pulled around the back of the general store and stepped out into the cool air.
‘So, we’re all straight, Evie? We’re going home the second Aunty Diana says we’re done?’
Evie closed the car door behind her and tucked her white shirt into her waistband.
‘Loud and clear, Mum. All work, no play. I can write it on my forehead if you like?’
She flashed a cheeky smile that took the edge off her words, and then led the way down the narrow alleyway between the shop and Main Street. Her torch bounced off the solid bluestone walls and Lara heard a gasp as they rounded the corner and emerged on the footpath.
‘Oh wow!’ Evie beamed at the sight of the hall in all its decorated glory. Diana was right: the fairy lights woven through the oak branches were enchanting.
Despite the early winter chill, smartly dressed men and women spilled out of the hall and onto the street, clustered in little groups. The mix of satin and lace, bow ties and shiny shoes was the perfect contrast to the hall’s worn weatherboard façade.
Holly dashed out of the car before Toby had pulled the keys from the ignition, and rushed into the hall in a black-and-white blur. Too embarrassed to be seen with Mr Safari Suit, Toby decided, looking at the perfectly pressed crease down the front of his pants. He wasn’t sure if it was the polyester fabric or the thought of walking into the hall in such a get-up, but he was itching and sweating lightly by the time he’d cleared the car park.
He paused at the hall door. For years, his fall-back response when fronting uncomfortable situations was to channel his mentor, Mick. The Ballarat editor was notorious for telling the junior reporters to drink a cup of concrete. It was an old joke around the office, and a phrase that ran through Toby’s head anytime he hit the limit of his comfort zone. But after last month’s newspaper front-page trick, even with the lure of the Ballarat promotion, Mick’s advice no longer held the same gravity.
A bus pulled up in Main Street, its bright lights silhouetting his shadow—flared legs and all—against the weatherboard hall, making even more of a spectacle of his ridiculous outfit.
Thankfully, his self-consciousness took a back seat as he opened the door and surveyed the soft-blue tablecloths, flowers and windmills on each table, fairy lights hanging from the ceiling, and colourful strobes bouncing across the stage. He wasn’t much into decorating, but he was impressed by the transformation.
‘Magical, isn’t it?’
He turned towards Lara’s voice.
Stuff the hall. The word ‘magical’ suits Lara right down to the ground.
He’d seen her in active wear plenty of times, watched her stride in and out of the Bush Nursing Centre in a basic uniform that mirrored her brisk efficiency, and noticed the collared shirts she favoured for volunteer shifts at the general store, but never had he seen her in a dress with her hair flowing around her shoulders.
Downright sexy, yet here he was looking like a dork in a safari suit.
Toby melted a little more when she brushed a lock of hair away from her face.
‘Just what I was thinking,’ he said. He could almost feel the electricity spark between them.
‘Snazzy suit,’ she added, reaching for the sleeve. She rubbed the material between her fingers. A little fizz ran up his arm when her hand brushed his skin.
‘Fabric’s in good condition too. Where’d you find this beauty?’ Toby laughed. ‘Nothing like the rustle of pure polyester, right? My sister found it. Long story, but safe to say I won’t be employing her as my personal shopper.’
‘I like it, great idea to make our guests smile. This was my mum’s dress. Probably from the same era as your suit, actually.’
Lara’s appraising look extinguished his annoyance at Belinda.
The band struck up a chord, testing their equipment, before the guitarist and banjo player launched into a fast rendition of ‘Duelling Banjos’. Toby dragged his attention away from Lara to give the band a hearty clap. The flurry of activity in the hall stilled as everyone else followed suit, and the musicians bowed with a flourish before returning to their warm-up.
‘Better get to work, I suppose,’ Toby said, leading the way to a table by the front door. They squeezed behind the makeshift desk and he ran a finger down the registration list; anything to stop his eyes sweeping over the beautiful woman beside him. There was only so long he could pretend to admire the dress before she noticed he was having a good, old-fashioned perve.
Before long, the first wave of guests were walking through the door, and Toby soon learned that working alongside Lara in the hall was a whole different ballgame to their shifts together at the shop. It might have been the buzz of music or the hum of conversation as they greeted the excited singles, or the smooth flow of the evening, but Lara seemed to sparkle. They fell into an easy routine of handing out goody bags and green wristbands to the guests and reminding them about the lucky door prize. It was almost comical to watch the blokes reach for their wallets as soon as Lara mentioned the apartment raffle. At this rate, they’d have enough to buy the store, redecorate inside and replace the hall’s weatherboards.
‘I’ll take a ticket too. It looks like there’re plenty of reasons to hunker down in this gorgeous town for a year,’ said a brunette guest, giving Toby a wink.
He handed her the raffle book and averted his eyes as she leaned on the registration desk to fill in the ticket, ensuring her generous cleavage was on full display.
‘Good luck,’ he said, handing over the pink bag that contained directions to tomorrow’s bonfire, a flyer Penny had created to spruik the shop’s fundraising campaign and a voucher for free Devonshire tea at Sunday’s fun run. ‘Have a great night.’
The woman’s eyes darted to his bare ring finger, then lingered on his lips.
‘See you on the dance floor, handsome.’
A snort came from behind him once the woman had left. He turned. Lara’s eyes brimmed with amusement.
‘See you on the dance floor, handsome,’ Lara mimicked. The comment held a lot more appeal coming from her lips, even if she was being sarcastic.
‘Friendly,’ he said grimly.
‘Friendly? That cougar wanted to drag you home and have her wicked way with you.’
He looked up, curiosity mixing with surprise as he studied Lara. Was she flirting with him? She held his gaze, and with all her attention, it felt like they were the only people in the room. How did she make him feel like this? And did she feel it too? A pair of tuxedoed men stormed through the door, breaking the moment, but not before he saw Lara take a shaky breath. She did feel it.
They were flat strap for another half-hour before registrations thinned out again. Toby took his first swig of beer. Warm, but ideal for soothing his parched throat. He glanced towards the dance floor, where the brunette from earlier was already surrounded by prospective dance partners.
He’d known she wouldn’t be short of company for long. Toby looked back at Lara, whose hips gently swayed to a familiar theme song from a TV show.
‘And to think I had you pegged as a country-music fan,’ he laughed. ‘You’re a nineties tragic, through and through.’
Lara pretended to bristle at his words, but he saw the smile lurking underneath as she sipped champagne.
‘Penny and Angie are the country fans. Diana’s the cultured one, she loves classical music. Whereas me, I’ll take anything catchy from the seventies to the nineties. Friends is my favourite sitcom. You?’
‘I’m not particularly coordinated, but my sister spent our entire chicken-pox quarantine trying to teach me a few dance moves. I can manage a mean Nutbush, and a half-arsed Macarena, but that’s about it.’
Lara
’s mouth curved into a slow smile. The noise, the music and the people bustling through the door en route to the registration desk slipped into the background as he basked in her approval. It was almost enough to make him march up to the stage and order the band to rip into their best Tina Turner impersonation.
‘Is that right?’
He watched the fabric shift in the soft dress. It had three times more material than most of the dresses in the room, but it was infinitely sexier. His pulse ratcheted up a notch.
Get a grip, he told himself.
Somebody cleared their throat. Toby and Lara turned in unison to find their daughters standing before them, their eyes bright with amusement.
‘Hate to interrupt, but Aunty Diana wants to know how many registrations are left,’ said Evie.
‘She’s about to send entrees out,’ added Holly.
They looked every bit the proper waitresses in their matching black-and-white outfits.
Lara and Toby both reached for the list at the same time and sprang back as their hands collided.
‘You go—’
‘No, you,’ Toby said, stepping back with a laugh.
‘OMG,’ said Holly, rolling her eyes. Toby didn’t miss the ‘I-told-you-so’ look she exchanged with Evie.
‘We’re only waiting on three people,’ said Toby.
Lara looked at her watch. ‘And they’re an hour late, so tell her to start serving up. The stragglers will have to suffer through cold soup.’
Toby picked up Lara’s empty champagne flute and downed the last of his beer, then pointed to the bar.
‘Fancy another while we wait?’
Lara shook her head. ‘I’d better whip into the kitchen and see if anyone needs a hand before I head off.’
Head off?
He’d assumed she was staying until close. That dress deserved at least one lap around the dance floor …
Oh boy.
Toby looked down at his shoes, noticing that the blue sock poking out from his left shoe jarred with the sock on his right.
Maybe she’s not that into you, Paxton.
He pushed the thought aside. Now was not the time for doubt. Self-preservation and pride had gone out the window as soon as he slipped on the powder-blue suit.
