When Patrick arrived at Springbank the following afternoon, Grant caught him at the door and asked if he could spare a few minutes for a walk. It wasn’t the day for a walk. A bitter southerly was blowing and Patrick hadn’t brought a coat. Grant didn’t seem to notice, firmly steering Patrick away from the house with a hand cupped around his upper arm.
Other than when he was a teenager and Grant had taken him off for ‘a man-to-man talk about my daughter’, it was the first time Grant had ever treated him this way. Like an unwelcome visitor instead of a family member.
Patrick had a bad-tempered urge to shake himself free. ‘Is it Maddy?’
‘No, she’s fine. I just want a quick word.’
Grant walked on. Patrick didn’t move, leaving Grant with the choice of forcing him along or letting him go. One glance at Patrick’s expression and he dropped his hold. His point made, Patrick followed, hunched against the cold.
It didn’t do his anxiety any good when Grant chose to stop at Khan’s old paddock. Grant leaned on the gate and regarded the small herd of grazing steers he’d shifted in to keep the grass managed.
‘Nicola and I are leaving for the Sunshine Coast next Wednesday. We haven’t seen Chelsea and the kids for a while and they start school holidays at Easter. We’re not calving so there’s not much to do around here, and it’s a good time to get away. Your dad said he’d keep an eye on the place for us.’
‘What about Maddy?’
‘We’ve booked her into respite care.’
Patrick shook his head. Respite care in Emu Springs meant the high-care section of the local nursing home, where they tended the dementia patients. ‘I can look after her.’
‘No.’
‘What do you mean no? Of course I can look after her. Better me than strangers.’
Patrick hated respite care. Maddy had been a few times before and that had been bad enough, but after the previous stay, when he’d discovered she’d been left with an unchanged incontinence pad, he swore it would be the last. It wasn’t the staff’s fault, they were overworked and of course things were missed occasionally. But it wouldn’t happen at all if she was looked after by people who loved her.
‘I said no. And that’s final.’ Unlike previous conversations there was no gentleness in Grant’s tone. It was as if he wanted a fight. ‘She’s our daughter, Patrick.’
‘Yeah, and she’s my—’
Grant shut him up with an abrupt gesture. ‘Enough! I know what you think she is and it doesn’t matter. We make the decisions, not you.’
‘But—’
‘No. You don’t have the experience.’
‘Oh, for fuck’s sake, Grant. Of course I do!’
‘What? You think visiting for an hour a day gives you an understanding of what our life’s like? The effort we go to, every single day?’ He shook his head, angry and sad at the same time. ‘You have no idea, Patrick. None. And you never will. She’s going into Spring Lodge and that’s final.’
Grant stalked off, leaving Patrick at the paddock. He hauled in breaths, trying to calm his racing heart, fear coiling tight around his chest.
This was his fault, an onslaught of circumstance set in motion the day he’d stood in the same spot with a rifle at his shoulder, pointed at Khan.
And there was no way he could take it back.
The blustery weather continued through the weekend, as if Mother Nature was in sympathy with Patrick’s turbulent emotions. With each increasingly strained visit to Maddy, he began to learn what it was like to tiptoe around people, as others had been doing with him. The Handrecks hung close as if, given half a chance, Patrick might gather Maddy in his arms and bolt through the French doors in an attempted kidnap. Their fear and disapproval added density to air that was already thick with the realities of Maddy’s care and condition.
He took to talking to her in whispers, working through what was happening in one-sided conversations. ‘How much more can I apologise, Mad? I’m sorry about Khan. I wouldn’t have gone through with it. They know that. So why the blame? It’s like … It’s like they’re deliberately trying to push me away from you.’
Patrick swallowed his pride and attempted to talk to Nicola, asking if there was a way he could regain their trust. She’d looked at him with enormous eyes and dashed sobbing from the room, leaving Patrick feeling even more rattled. Nicola was a country woman, resilient, practical. She got on with things and didn’t complain. Not a woman who fled in tears.
His mum wasn’t much help either when he’d brought it up. She’d simply stroked his head and kissed his hair and told him it would all be fine.
If it wasn’t for Tash, Patrick might have thought there was some sort of conspiracy against him.
‘It’s hard for them too,’ she said the following Tuesday night when he called in after football training. He was trying hard to be upbeat in her presence but the Handrecks were dropping Maddy at Spring Lodge in the morning and he was feeling sick about it, and their ongoing coolness. ‘They’re probably feeling guiltier than you about leaving her. How long was her last stay in respite care?’
‘Five days.’
‘And this time they’re leaving her for ten. That can’t be easy.’
Patrick had to concede there might be some truth in that but it didn’t account for the out-of-character behaviour, not completely. Grant was still being terse and Nicola had taken to not making eye contact at all.
‘I have something that will cheer you up.’
‘Oh, yeah?’
‘Oh, yeah indeed. Peri-peri chicken and salad followed by mandarin crème brûlée.’
It was cheery. Outside the wind was howling but in Tash’s kitchen it could have been summer. She opened a bottle of chardonnay and Patrick sipped and watched while she expertly char-grilled the chicken and tossed baby rocket leaves in dressing with shaved red onion and tiny cherry tomatoes.
He’d been relieved to find she’d laid the bench with placemats and cutlery for two. Eating alone once was okay but more than that and he’d have begun to feel uncomfortable. With Tash joining him it’d be normal, and right now he needed normal like he needed oxygen. Without it he’d flail, and Patrick had wasted too much time doing that as it was.
With their mains cleared away, Tash took two ramekins from the fridge and set them on the bench. She sprinkled each surface carefully with sugar and with a cheeky wink, ducked down behind the bench before bobbing up again holding an industrial-sized blow torch.
‘You sure you have a licence for that?’ asked Patrick.
She regarded him with one raised eyebrow, before igniting the torch with the sort of casual aplomb a soldier would use when chambering a weapon. Flame blasted blue and intense from its end. She stroked the torch over the tops of the ramekins, the sugar hissing as it bubbled and caramelised. Her assurance and expertise with what could be a dangerous tool was mesmerising. When both ramekins were done, she extinguished the flame and grinned. ‘Cool, huh?’
Cool wasn’t the word Patrick would have used. Sexy as hell more like.
‘Very impressive.’
‘You think? Good. I’m going to do a video of this one. Everyone loves a bit of blow-torch action.’
Patrick wished she wouldn’t. She’d probably give a thousand blokes a hard-on lighting up that torch, and anything with the word ‘blow’ in it conjured up too many other wayward images. That little fantasy he’d prefer to keep to himself.
‘This is a test recipe. Pa picked the first of his mandarins yesterday and dropped some by.’
She tapped a spoon against the top of her caramel to break the surface. Patrick did the same, plunging his spoon into a rich, scented custard. He closed his eyes as he savoured the creamy mix. ‘Now that is good.’
Tash lit up with delight. ‘Thank you.’
She ate some more, licking the spoon clean of every mouthful. Patrick watched her out of the corner of his eye. Custard had never been so seductive. Idly, he wondered what it’d be like to kiss her now. She’d likely taste so sweet and he wouldn’t ever want to stop.
‘I should plant an orchard. Pa’s is fantastic.’
‘I thought you wanted a wood-fired oven.’
‘That too.’ She sucked on her spoon lingeringly, loading Patrick’s brain with carnal thoughts. He shifted on his stool, his jeans uncomfortably tight.
‘I could make that my Easter project,’ she said.
‘The orchard?’
‘No.’ She tapped his arm with the spoon. ‘The oven. The internet’s full of videos on how to build them. It’s not hard. A bit time consuming, and you need to be handy with a brick cutter, but I could learn that. Pa could help.’ Her brows knitted. ‘Bugger. He has that big bowls tournament over Easter.’
‘I could lend a hand.’
Tash shook her head. ‘I’m sure you have plenty of better things to do.’
‘Not really. To tell you the truth, I could do with the distraction.’
She sucked on another mouthful of crème brûlée and considered. ‘I’d want to video the building of it.’
Patrick shrugged. He’d already appeared on camera, only in the background shots at the party, but it was still his face on Tash’s video. What would it matter anyway? The boys would probably tease him but that wouldn’t be a bad thing. It was about time they had something to rib him about. ‘I don’t mind.’
Which was how Patrick came to spend his Good Friday toiling over the foundation for the oven’s base in the freezing cold.
‘Why is Easter always so disgusting here?’ said Tash. With her layers of clothes and a woollen beanie pulled low over her ears she looked cuter than ever, like a stuffed toy. Patrick had an overwhelming urge to cuddle her. ‘I can’t remember the last time we enjoyed a sunny one.’
‘It’s meant to be getting better by Sunday.’
‘I hope so.’ She tucked her hands under her armpits. ‘It’s like Antarctica with that wind.’
At least it was more sheltered where they were working. Tash had spent Wednesday and Thursday planning out the oven and sourcing materials, most of which weren’t available in Emu Springs at short notice. Peter had helped, taking the flatbed to Hamilton for supplies. Tash had decided the best location for the oven would be towards the end of the garden, not far from the flat but in an area protected from the prevailing wind by a couple of large old pines. Patrick had initially thought the area too far away from the main house. Fine for while she was here but it would quickly be out of sight and out mind once she left.
Tash didn’t seem bothered when he’d pointed that out. ‘I’ll still come home for breaks. My followers love the farm and will want regular updates. I’ll just build it into my schedule. Once a fortnight, once a month.’ She shrugged. ‘It’ll depend on demand.’
The news that she’d visit that frequently shot a thrill through Patrick’s heart, only for it to vanish when she squinted at the horizon and continued on.
‘The novelty will probably wear off though. I’ve been thinking about other things I could do with my brand to keep it fresh. Caravanning around Australia might be fun. Visiting all the great growing regions and some of the lesser-known ones.’
‘Alone?’
She smiled and winked at him. ‘I’m a big brave girl. I can cope.’
‘It’d be pretty lonely though. Driving around by yourself.’
‘Maybe. But there’s the internet and phone, and I could always team up with some grey nomads. Actually,’ she said, tapping a finger against her mouth, ‘that wouldn’t be a bad idea. I could do a series on travel and campfire meals.’
‘I suppose.’ Patrick lifted a shovel full of gravel and tossed it down with a splatter into the timber frame they’d built earlier. Once the gravel was in and compacted, and wire reinforcing put in place, they could pour the concrete. How much more they achieved over the weekend would depend on the weather.
He kept shovelling, trying not to sulk. Tash was a smart, independent woman with a successful and interesting career that she’d built from scratch. It was one of the things he admired about her. Expecting her to fit in with his wants—wants she wasn’t even aware of—was stupid. His feelings were probably because he hadn’t had sex in forever anyway.
By morning’s end they had the concrete poured. Tash used a screed to finish the surface, working on hands and knees with her tongue poking out the side of her mouth in concentration as she smoothed the concrete. Patrick videoed her at work, teasing her about how elegant she looked until she flipped him the finger. Coco interpreted the sign as a ‘come here’ gesture and promptly trotted through the pour, tail wagging in excitement. Tash swore in a way that would take quite a few bleeps to remove and had Patrick laughing, making her glare and flip him another bird as she manhandled Coco off the concrete.
To stop further dog invasions, they fenced off the slab with chicken wire before retreating inside for well-earned bowls of chicken and vegetable soup and toast.
‘What are you up to this arvo?’ asked Patrick, blowing on his spoon.
‘Writing probably, edit the morning’s video. You?’
‘A few things at home, then I’ll go visit Maddy. Bec’s doing something with her bridesmaids so Clip’s invited me around for a card night with the boys.’
‘Sounds like fun.’
‘Yeah. Been a while since I’ve done anything like that.’ He stirred his spoon through his soup but didn’t eat.
Tash eyed him. ‘Stop being so hard on yourself. Maddy’s accident knocked you for six. You were allowed to be miserable. Everyone understands that.’
‘For two years?’
‘For however long it took to come to terms with it.’ Reaching across, she folded her hand over his and squeezed. ‘Now you are.’
Patrick turned his hand over so their palms met. Tash gave another brief squeeze before tugging free and concentrating back on her soup.
It was a small thing—like when she’d brushed her fingers against his when Ceci had him cornered at the party—but it felt huge. Like a giant balloon had expanded in his chest. Patrick ate but his senses were tuned in hard on Tash, wondering what she was thinking. A flush had crept up her cheeks, leaving her so pretty it made him ache.
Christ, he needed to get laid.
With the inclement weather and the concrete needing curing time, there wasn’t any more they could do. Patrick arranged to return the next Monday to help build the oven base. The besser blocks were in a neat stack nearby and Tash had plenty of mortar mix in the shed. A few hours and they’d have it sorted. It was the oven floor and brick dome that would take more time and careful construction, but that was for the next week, when Baz and Peter would be on hand.
‘Thank you,’ she said, leaning against the wall next to the sliding door. ‘I know you said you wanted the distraction but I’m sure there were a lot more comfortable ways you could have distracted yourself.’ She smiled. ‘I appreciate it. A lot.’
‘You’re welcome.’ He hesitated. It seemed weird to up and leave after they’d spent so much time together and she’d treated him to yet another meal, but kissing her was just as fraught. Patrick settled on a brief hug instead that only reminded him how soft and gorgeous she was to hold.
On Saturday, Patrick woke in the spare room at Clip’s house with a mild hangover but a smile on his face.
It had been just like the old days. Him, Clip and the other boys talking shit all night. Pizza and beer had been followed with bourbon and rum. Laughter came often. They’d played rounds of poker, and though they were only betting with Monopoly money nicked from Bec’s set it was no less competitive. Not having played for ages and having forgotten how slippery his mates could get, Patrick lost hand after hand, but eventually found his stride and a winning streak that led to good-natured accusations of cheating.
Bec had returned home late and tutted at them all in mock despair before disappearing off to bed, leaving them to it. Patrick suspected Maddy would have been less understanding, which then had him thinking about what Tash would do in the same situation. Laugh and probably join them and whip their sorry arses. No. She’d laugh, make them food and then whip their arses. She was that kind of girl.
After pick-me-up coffees and toast, Patrick helped Clip in his shed. He was restoring a ’67 Ford ute he’d discovered rotting in a paddock, and had plans to show at the Deniliquin Ute Muster one day. Patrick suspected the ute would never get finished, especially given their wedding and baby plans, but a man had to have dreams. He envied Clip his. These days all Patrick seemed to dream about was getting out of the mess he was in.
It was a good morning, blokey and comforting, and with footy starting the following week probably the last chance they’d have to do this for a while. His mood remained high as he made his way into Spring Lodge, greeting the visitors and staff he knew as he wound the halls to Maddy’s section.
Patrick’s timing couldn’t have been worse. A pair of aides were in Maddy’s room, preparing to bath her. The older aide—a woman he hadn’t come across before but who wore her seniority with arrogance—regarded him frostily and asked if perhaps he couldn’t come back later. He could, but Patrick resented the inference that he was some sort of pervert for wanting to stay. It wasn’t like he hadn’t done it before.
Rather than risk a fight, he spent a few moments with Maddy, apologising for the brevity of his visit, then left. He drove up Castlereagh Road with his fists tight around the wheel and his mood spoiled. The sight of Tash’s flat with its cheerily smoking chimney was like a siren call to his longing. If anyone could restore his humour, it’d be Tash.
She didn’t fail him. Patrick found her in her kitchen, dressed in a baggy pink-and-white rabbit onesie complete with floppy ears and paws. For an unsexy outfit, it was strangely arousing. Not that that was unusual. His hormones were so out of control these days Tash could have worn a hessian sack and he’d probably be turned on.
‘Interesting,’ he said.
She presented her bum and wiggled, showing off a large fluffy tail. ‘Like it?’
‘Very cute.’
‘I bought it for a party ages ago. I didn’t feel like writing so I thought I’d make Italian Easter bread and film it instead.’
‘In a rabbit onesie?’
‘Why not a rabbit onesie? It’s Easter Bunny time!’ Her grin faltered and she tilted her head, considering him. ‘What’s happened?’
‘Nothing. It doesn’t matter.’
‘Of course it does. What?’ Sympathy softened her face. ‘Didn’t last night go well?’
‘No, last night was great. It’s not that.’ He looked at his feet then up again. ‘I called in to see Maddy. They were about to bath her.’
‘And they didn’t want you around while they did it.’
He nodded.
‘I’m sorry. I guess they have to be careful.’
He ran a hand through his hair. ‘They know I’m her fiancé.’
‘That doesn’t mean they know about how involved you still are in her life.’
‘Maybe.’ He considered the bench with its ingredients and utensils and let out a breath. More bad timing. Besides, it was hard to think straight while she was wearing that costume. It was made of thick fleece and had to be hot, which meant she probably wasn’t wearing anything except underwear beneath. ‘I’d better get going and leave you to it.’
‘No, stay. Mum and Dad have gone to Caramut to see my aunt and probably won’t be back until late and I’ll need a food taster.’ She gave him one of her cute puppy looks. ‘Please? If you’re not here I’ll only scoff the lot myself.’ Clasping her hands and holding them up under her chin, she blinked slowly and deliberately. ‘I need you.’
How was a man meant to refuse her when she did that?
With coffee and a couple of Anzac biscuits for sustenance, Patrick positioned himself on the couch at right angles to the combustion fire and in line of sight to the kitchen. Despite the caffeine hit, the warmth soon made him drowsy after his big night and it wasn’t long before he nodded off, only to be immediately roused by Tash talking to the camera as she showed off coloured eggs and kneaded dough in her ridiculous outfit.
The more he watched, the more his sleepy brain fantasised about what it’d be like to have her as more than a friend. He could picture her in bed, rose-skinned and playful. Seductive too. Teasing. She’d make his life fun, give it hope. And in return he’d give whatever she wanted, whatever made her smile and laugh and love him the way he loved her.
Love.
The realisation shot Patrick out of his drowsy state and into a half-panic. As soon as she had a break in filming, he stood.
‘I have to go.’
Tash swept the rabbit-head hood off her head and frowned. ‘Why?’
He edged towards the door. ‘I just do.’
Quickly wiping her hands on a towel, she crossed to him, gaze skittering uncertainly over his face. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Don’t say nothing. What’s happened?’
Her, that’s what had happened. Her and her sweet big heart and prettiness and smiles. Things he couldn’t tell her because she’d only regard him with pity again and explain why it could never work.
‘I just remembered things I needed to do at home.’
‘You’re lying. Why?’ Biting her lip, she hugged herself. ‘Is it me? Did I say something wrong?’
He couldn’t help it, Patrick stretched his arms around her and held her, hating that he’d caused doubt in someone so strong and, worse, someone he cared about deeply. ‘It’s not you. You’re great.’ He held his cheek against her silky hair and savoured the sensation for a moment before drawing away. ‘I’ll see you Monday, okay?’
She nodded but he knew she was hurt.
Patrick returned as promised on Monday, determined to keep his emotions in check. He was quiet though, which earned him frequent worried glances from Tash. He was relieved when Baz arrived, fresh from a bowls victory and keen to check on progress. With the three of them at it, the supporting walls went up in no time.
With the last block laid, Tash declared it coffee and cake time and headed for the flat, Coco on her heels.
‘Thanks for lending a hand,’ said Baz. ‘I wasn’t keen on her doing the heavy lifting alone. Our Floss sometimes thinks she can do everything.’
‘She can.’
That earned a chuckle from Baz.
Patrick’s eye caught the lemonade tree he’d given her, healthy in its pot on the terrace. ‘It’ll be the orchard next.’
‘Wants an orchard too, does she?’ Baz stroked his chin. ‘Better watch yourself. Next thing she’ll be after a boyfriend.’
‘Don’t look at me.’
‘I am looking at you.’
‘I have Maddy,’ Patrick replied flatly.
Baz was unimpressed. ‘How long are you going to keep believing that? Maddy was a beautiful girl. So’s Tash. One can give you a future, the other can’t.’
Patrick did not want to be having this conversation. It only reminded him of the hole he was in. ‘I made a promise.’
‘That’s an excuse and you know it.’
Patrick said nothing.
Baz watched his granddaughter as she fussed in the kitchen. ‘She likes you, you know. I can tell by the way she looks at you. You look at her the same.’
‘We’re friends.’
‘More than that. That girl could be yours if you tried.’
Patrick didn’t think there was any point hiding from Baz. Like Ceci, he’d already noticed too much. ‘I did try.’
‘Did you now? Huh.’
He rolled a clod of dirt under his boot until it collapsed. ‘She said there was no point. She’s not planning to stay.’
‘So she says.’ Baz nodded to himself as he scanned the yard. ‘So she says.’ He smiled and turned his attention back to Patrick. ‘Look around you, lad. Garden, wood-fired oven, orchard in the planning. Looks permanent to me.’ He placed his hand on Patrick’s shoulder. ‘Take some advice from an old timer. Don’t listen so much to what she says. Pay more attention to what she does. You might find yourself surprised.’