Bottlebrush Creek

by Maya Linnell

  ‘You’re a good dad, Rob. I might not say that enough, but it’s true.’

  She took a step closer, and he hugged her with all he had, scared by how close he’d come to losing it all.

  Forty-eight

  Angie kept one eye on the road ahead and one eye on Rob’s motorbike in the rear-view mirror as they drove back home. Had she really almost lost sight of everything they’d been working toward?

  She turned into Enderby Lane, drove past the bottlebrushes where Rosa had caught the ring-bearing calf and pulled into the driveway. She blinked away tears, focusing instead on the hand-painted sign Rob had made them, and their pretty little cottage beyond.

  The motorbike rolled to a stop beside her. Angie stepped out of the car and into Rob’s arms.

  It’s more than just building a house—we’re building a life together, she thought as she laid her head against his chest, and it’s our story to write. Not Bobbi’s, not Rosa’s, not Mum’s. Ours.

  ‘Head inside? I hate to ruin the moment, but I’ve got a mess of paperwork and accounts, and I’m hoping you might help me untangle it all.’

  ‘Thought you’d never ask,’ she said, standing on tiptoe to meet his kiss.

  Rob showed her his makeshift accounting system, then left her to muddle through the paper trail as he fetched Claudia from next door. Angie felt like she’d barely made a dent on the paperwork, but when Rob walked back in with a sleeping Claudia in his arms, she had almost a page of notes.

  Angie looked up from the computer as Rob set two mugs of tea on the table. She turned the laptop towards him as he sat down on the stool, and pointed to the spreadsheet she’d created.

  ‘So, if we get in touch with all these clients, we should be able to ease the cash-block until everyone’s paid their accounts. The hardware store will be the priority, but I think I’ve found a problem—you’ve paid for the O’Connells’ marble benchtops twice.’

  They spent the rest of the evening going over the business accounts together before drawing up a plan for the rest of the renovations, and when she fell into bed at midnight, it had never felt so good to have Rob lying beside her and Claudia snoring softly in her bunk.

  ‘We’re a good team, Ange. A really good team,’ Rob said, pulling her tight. She fell asleep to the sound of Claudia’s light snuffling, the roaring of the ocean, the arms of the man she loved wrapped around her and the knowledge that things would work out just fine.

  Epilogue

  Rob leaned against the milk vat, stripped off his green overalls and held out his hand for the other two pairs.

  Max waved it away. ‘My turn this week. You and Angie washed the overalls last week.’

  John rolled his eyes and held out a hand. ‘You’re like a pair of old hens, clucking over the last piece of potato peel instead of grotty working dungas. I’ll wash them, but don’t think I’ll be ironing them too,’ said John, a hint of a smile on his face.

  Rob stifled a yawn as he handed the overalls to his father. The 4.30 a.m. starts had taken some getting used to, but milking wasn’t the chore he remembered from his teenage years.

  ‘Gonna fry up some bacon and eggs if anyone’s keen,’ said John, as he closed the dairy door behind them.

  Rob exchanged a look with Max, biting back a smirk. At least he had a valid prior appointment this morning. There were only so many rashers of charred bacon and rock-hard eggs a guy could stomach. John had picked up most of Rosa’s jobs in her absence, but he was yet to nail cooking, no matter how many tips Rosa offered from her sickbed.

  ‘Nah, I’ve got to be home to get Claud to preschool. Ange’s got something on in town again. Probably more wedding stuff. But thanks anyway, Dad.’

  He looked up as John shrugged. ‘Maybe on the weekend then. Tell Claud I’ll try not to burn hers this time.’

  The border collies bounded over, with Violet hot on their heels.

  All three of them leaned down and patted the dogs. Working together to fill Rosa’s place was one thing, but for the first time in weeks, they weren’t rushing away the second they’d stripped off their overalls.

  It’s time.

  Rob took a deep breath, and nerves jangled his voice as he took a step closer to reconciliation.

  ‘Might grab a hand from you on Saturday if either of you are free? Got all the stuff for the new chook shed but Ange breaks out in a rash every time she’s within cooee of a feather.’ Rob plucked a harlequin beetle off Rosa’s pink David Austins as he waited for a reply. ‘I can ask Brett if you’re busy?’

  John cleared his throat. ‘Long as it’s between nine and three, I can lend a hand.’

  Max shoved his hands into his back pockets and rocked on his heels. ‘Fine by me.’

  Rob swung open the new gate he’d cut into the boundary fence. Angie was right, a gate was a better option than straddling the fence each and every time they walked between the two properties. He whistled the rest of the way home.

  Angie pulled the ring tin out of the oven and sat it on Rosa’s stovetop beside the tray of blueberry muffins. Claudia fidgeted on the stool beside her, itching to taste-test the goodies she’d help make.

  ‘It’s a bit hot now, Claud. But by the time we take Granny her tea in the sunroom, it should be perfect,’ she said.

  Claudia jumped down from her stool and fetched the small milk jug from the fridge. Angie set three muffins on the tray with a vase of pink roses and poured three cups of tea. She stirred the dairy-fresh milk with a knife so the cream dispersed evenly, adding extra to the littlest cup so that it was a child-friendly temperature, and popped paracetamol on a saucer beside a few slices of warm cake.

  Claudia ran ahead, Baxter the stuffed dog under her arm, as she weaved through the kitchen, past the lounge room with its open fireplace and into the sunroom. Rosa set her craft project aside and patted the seat beside her.

  ‘Careful of Granny’s hip,’ said Angie as Claudia rushed to Rosa’s side.

  ‘I’m tough as old boots, really. Takes a lot more than a few broken bones to keep me down for long,’ said Rosa.

  Angie nudged the embroidery out of the way and sat the tray on the coffee table. ‘Don’t tell John that, or he’ll have you rounding up the cows and shifting irrigation pipes before you know it,’ said Angie. She watched the woman’s eyes track towards the dairy, a smile on her face.

  ‘Couldn’t have arranged it any better myself. With Max taking my place permanently, and Rob chipping in when he can, those boys have to get along. Who would’ve known I just needed to take myself out of action for a while to bring them closer together?

  Rosa looked back at Angie. ‘How’s your special project coming along, Angie? Should I be buying you leathers for Christmas?’

  Angie smiled. ‘Operation Easyrider is done and dusted. It’s been a learning curve to say the least, but the temporary licence is in my handbag, and it’ll do the job until the official one arrives in the mail.’

  Rosa beamed. ‘Good, good. And what about you, poppet? How’s your little cottage coming along?’

  ‘My bedroom is all painted now, Granny. And I’ve got a big girl’s bed,’ said Claudia.

  Angie updated Rosa on the house progress as she cut the cake. ‘Recognise this recipe, Rosa? It’s your coconut—’

  ‘Cake. I’d be able to recognise this one blindfolded, Angie. Two cups of sugar, two cups of self-raising flour, two cups of milk and—’ Rosa broke off, her eyes glinting as she tousled Claudia’s hair. ‘Can you remember the final ingredient, poppet? Two cups of … ?’

  Angie sipped her tea as Claudia pondered the question.

  ‘Coconut!’ she said.

  ‘You’ve got a little MasterChef on your hands there, Angie. By the time your kitchen’s complete, she’ll be able to bake that cake all by herself.’

  Angie smiled and nodded. It had taken a few weeks to feel comfortable cooking in Rosa’s kitchen, but now that her own ovens were in place, awaiting connection by the electricians, she realised she’d miss this. It
wasn’t the same as cooking in her mum’s kitchen at McIntyre Park. It never would be; she’d been crazy to imagine that. She now understood there was no use trying to recreate the same bond between her and Rosa that she’d had with her own mum, or replicate the bond Rob and Rosa shared—but she had a feeling they were on the right track.

  Rosa looked at her watch and tapped a finger to the side of her nose as she nodded at Angie. ‘Don’t you have to go into town and pick up the you-know-what?’

  Angie’s gaze went to the grandfather clock that had been passed down through the Jones family. It was almost 3 p.m.

  She brushed the crumbs off her jeans and pressed a gentle kiss on Rosa’s soft cheek. ‘I do, thank you. Come on, Claudia, let’s go pick up Dad’s surprise,’ she said.

  Rob carried the bulging black rubbish bag across the yard and pushed it into the already overloaded garbage bin, trying to make it fit. He’d lost count of the number of times he’d swept the floors during the renovations, but knowing this would be the last rubbish bag full of building-related debris made him whistle as he walked back to the cottage. The duck-egg blue weatherboards looked almost slate grey after the recent sun showers and the purple irises Angie had planted in the front garden beds swayed softly in the breeze.

  ‘Where do you want the table, Rob? Centre of the dining room or close to the window to catch more sunlight?’

  Rob stepped aside to let Tim and Pete through. Lara and Diana marched past in convoy, a chair under each arm, and Rob’s reply was cut off by Penny, who sat under the verandah, breastfeeding baby Lucy.

  ‘I think Angie wanted it by the window so you’ve got easier access to those double doors,’ Penny called. ‘She can always shift it a little later if need be.’

  He gave her a thumbs up, hoping his mum would manage to keep Angie occupied for as long as possible so the kitchen transformation would be complete by the time she returned. Angus strode past, a lamp in his hand, and then Max and John emerged from the hay shed, craning their necks at an awkward angle to see around the stacks of plastic storage containers they held.

  ‘This is the last of the cooking stuff, son. I’ll head over to the house and fetch Angie in a minute,’ said John. Rob nodded at his father, taking one of his boxes and walking beside him across the lawn and into the cottage.

  John paused at the verandah. ‘I reckon you’ve done all right,’ he said.

  Rob smiled, knowing it was as close as he was likely to get to a glowing endorsement. They walked into the cottage together. Tessa stood on tiptoe, wiping the glass with a scrunched-up sheet of newspaper as Brett washed the north-facing window with a squeegee.

  ‘Looking schmicko in here, guys. Thanks so much for helping out. I know it’s not all finished yet, but I reckon this will make Ange’s birthday pretty darn special,’ Rob said.

  Lara tossed him a shrewd look. ‘It’s not like you need wardrobes or painted doors to move in. She’ll love it, trust me.’

  A rough rumble sounded in the distance and Rob moved into the hallway, away from the happy chatter of friends and family moving furniture around and boxes of cutlery and crockery being unpacked into cupboards. The throaty sound grew louder and he headed for the front door, a smile almost splitting his heart in two at the sight in front of him.

  An unmistakable swirl of red hair spilled from a motorbike helmet as his black-and-gold Harley-Davidson puttered along Enderby Lane. A little hand waved furiously from the sidecar.

  So that was where Ange had been disappearing to so often. To get her motorbike licence?

  How did she convince the collector to part ways with the rare motorcycle? Violet bounded up to the bike, her tail propelling her body as she greeted her owners. He could see the smile on Angie’s face underneath the helmet visor. The two girls he loved most in the world, and the bike he thought he’d ridden for the final time, stood in front of the cottage that had almost torn them apart. He looked back to see the crowd amassed on the front verandah. Rob strode towards the bike, and took Angie’s gloved hands in his, marvelling at the gutsy and gorgeous woman before him.

  ‘Is there anything you can’t do, Miss McIntyre?’

  She grinned, and as he leaned down to kiss her, Rob knew he really was the luckiest guy in all of Port Fairview.

  Angie tiptoed along the cottage hallway, relishing the feeling of freshly polished floorboards under her bare feet. She ran her fingers along the plaster, appreciating every hour that had gone into straightening, plastering and painting the walls.

  She paused at Claudia’s bedroom and gently pushed open the heavy timber door. Even in the dim glow of the night-light, the teddy bears and dolls looked quite at home lined up along the window seat, surrounded by unpacked boxes and a makeshift clothes rack.

  Angie crept across the plush carpet and straightened Claudia’s sheets. It had taken a lot of soaking and scrubbing, but she’d managed to remove Rosa’s blood and the dirt from the patchwork blanket. Angie smiled as she watched the hand-embroidered animals rise and fall with each of Claudia’s gentle breaths.

  She pulled the door almost shut and slipped into the bathroom. Her reflection stared back at her as she stripped in front of the sparkling bathroom mirror.

  Another year older, another year wiser. Isn’t that how it goes?

  Instead of glaring at her reflection for all of a second and then averting her gaze, Angie tried to see herself through Rob’s eyes. Her conscience gave a snort of laughter, a negative internal voice quickly querying how many slices of Diana’s carrot cake she’d eaten after the birthday dinner. Ugh, this is useless, Angie thought.

  She was tempted to shower in the dark, but something inside her made her twist the light switch dimmer and look again. She saw the rounded hips that had carried a child, and let her fingers trace the faded red stripes covering much of her breasts and midriff. Angie smiled as she turned on the shower and her reflection softened in the steam.

  You’ll do, Angie McIntyre.

  She hummed as she lathered her skin and scrubbed her face, wondering what Rob had planned for her final birthday surprise. Spending the first night inside their new cottage was reward enough, not to mention the top-of-the-line ovens he’d suprised her with in their beautiful new kitchen, but he had insisted her big day wasn’t over yet. Spraying herself with the new perfume Lara had given her, Angie shrugged into the satin dressing gown from Penny and Diana, and fossicked in the cupboard for toothpaste.

  Ah ha, she thought, pulling out a thin box. She laughed as she saw it was a ten-pack of pregnancy tests and hesitated before shoving it to the back of the drawer and locating the correct box. Wait till tomorrow, she told herself.

  She walked to their bedroom, and pushed the unpainted door inwards. Candles flickered from the mantelpiece and the bedside tables. Rob lay in the middle of their linen bedspread, surrounded by dried rose petals. Music played on the stereo, not quite covering his gentle snores.

  Angie grinned. Who said romance was dead?

  She gently eased a framed photograph from underneath Rob’s hand. The print was an enlargement of the family shot they’d taken for the Christmas cards, with the hand-painted sign and Bottlebrush Cottage in the background. She removed the purple ribbon and bow and sat it on the chest of drawers, next to a framed photo of all four McIntyre girls with Annabel. Just as she did every night, Angie lifted a finger to her lips and then touched it to her mother’s image. Someday soon, when she and Rob had added a few more curly-haired youngsters to their tribe, she’d make sure she got a similar shot of them outside their handcrafted home.

  Angie padded across the new carpet and closed the door, smiling at the garment bags that hung on the back. Hidden in plain sight behind Rob’s only suit was a second garment bag, containing the most exquisite ivory lace dress and matching veil.

  I’m going to knock his socks off next month, no doubt about it.

  Acknowledgements

  The biggest thanks of all must go to you, my fabulous readers, for picking up a copy of Bottl
ebrush Creek and spending time with the McIntyre family. I was blown away by the beautiful messages I received from Wildflower Ridge readers, so big hugs and virtual lemon meringue pies for everyone who read it and then took the time to leave a review, posted photos of it in the wild, spread the word and celebrated Penny’s journey. I hope you have loved Angie’s story just as much!

  I started writing Bottlebrush Creek in early 2018 after finishing my first manuscript. At the time, we’d just moved into our owner-built home in country Victoria. The internal doors were unpainted, wardrobes were in the too-hard basket, and the dramas, frustrations and joys of our project were still fresh in my mind. Having lived and breathed owner–builder life for two and a half years, I knew the theme was ripe with potential. So, with my dad’s advice to ‘write what you know’ echoing in my ears, I set to work throwing the kitchen sink at poor Angie McIntyre and shining a light on the challenges faced by many owner–builder couples. To all the other owner–builder ladies out there—this one’s for you!

  I also loved weaving a few personal snippets into the story. Two motorbikes in the book are based on beloved bikes from my dad’s collection, the funny footage captured in the forest is similar to a real incident captured in a friend’s paddock, the scene where Angie unloads a pallet of tiles is one hundred per cent memoir (although I’ve embellished the delivery driver), and I’ve pinched the name Enderby Lane from the South Australian town of Millicent and inserted it into a fictional town similar to beautiful Port Fairy. Aside from this, Bottlebrush Creek is a complete work of fiction and any errors are mine.

  My name might be on the front cover of this book, but plenty of work went on behind the scenes. Thanks to Karena, Katrina, Tony and Heather for being super neighbours, always chatting books and offering up possible plot lines over the fence, Larissa Gardiner for being a dairy-farming goddess, Stu and Amy Silvester for answering my hobby-farm queries, Kate Griffith again for her nursing prowess, my dad for his motorbike tips and Alistair Harkness at Federation University for his insights into feral pig behaviour. And also a nod to my English teacher, Alistair Minty, for his steady guidance throughout high school, and the beautiful crew from Tantanoola Primary who supported my debut book release just like they supported me as a student.