Patrick woke to the rattle of an aging air conditioner, soft sheets and the scent of femininity. For a long, blissful moment he thought he was back in his rental in Emu Springs, waking to Maddy. Then the memory of the morning crashed him fully awake and he groaned and buried his face in the pillow.
What must Tash think of him, snivelling all over her like a big girl?
She’d been amazing though. Unfazed, sweet and caring. Forcing him to eat the breakfast she cooked and marching him to her room along with an order to sleep. The combination of high-calorie food, exhaustion and the comfort of her doona had him falling asleep faster than he thought possible.
Patrick rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling, wondering what the time was, then blinking as he realised the roof was freckled with sparkly artwork. There were smiling moons, shooting stars trailing rainbow colours, unicorns and fairies. Despite his despondency, he smiled. Only Tash would think of decorating her bedroom ceiling so joyfully. As if sleep had to be as fun as day.
Fatigue tugged at his muscles, bringing with it the urge to curl up and sleep again. He shifted to his side and closed his eyes. His breath caught the scent of her pillow and he found himself inhaling deeper. It was like her: nice, wholesome and homely but with a touch of something else, something exotic and tempting.
The thought made Patrick sit up. He rubbed his face, the scratch of his hand against its thick stubble a condemnation of how far he’d let himself go this week. What a frigging mess. His brain felt shattered, his heart not much better. Every waking hour felt like a war. If he wasn’t wrestling with his guilt over falling out of love with Maddy, he was fighting off inappropriate thoughts towards Tash, and both battles were doing his head in.
He swung his legs to the side of the bed and glanced at Tash’s clock, an old-fashioned style with two bells at the top and a little hammer to ping between them. The face was decorated with a Friesian cow jumping over a wheel of Swiss cheese.
‘Jesus,’ he said and launched himself off the bed.
He spotted Tash through the glass door, stretching up from a small stepladder to screw a hook into the tall lattice screen that provided privacy from the main house to the flat’s terrace. The sun was shining on her, as it always seemed to be. Coco was on her haunches at the foot of the ladder, tennis ball in her mouth, regarding Tash with hopeful brown eyes. The dog dropped the ball, looked at it and back at Tash. She finished fastening the hook and smiled wryly at the dog. She stepped down, feinted a few kicks and sent the ball soaring with a hefty punt. Coco raced after it, Tash laughing as the labrador skidded so fast she almost took a tumble.
She moved the ladder along and stepped up to secure another hook. Patrick watched her for a few minutes longer, a strange full sensation building in his chest. He’d been hollow for so long that it was a weird feeling, and too much for his screwed-up head to process.
Tash smiled over her shoulder as Patrick slid open the door and stepped into the bright sun. ‘Hey, sleepyhead. Feeling better?’
‘I’m not sure better is the right word. Embarrassed, more like.’
Tash climbed down to stand in front of him. ‘You have nothing to be embarrassed about. I mean it.’
Which was kind of her but wouldn’t stop him feeling like crap. Patrick squinted at the sky. The sun was past overhead and heading west. ‘I can’t believe I slept for so long. Dad will probably sack me.’
‘He won’t. I called him. He says you’re to stay as long as I need.’
Patrick pressed fingers to his temples. Shit. Then he clocked what she’d said. ‘Hang on, as you need?’
‘Uh huh.’ She grinned cheekily. ‘I pleaded the dire want of a strong healthy man to help me with a bit of heavy lifting. Dad’s in Hamilton and Pa’s playing bowls, and it just so happened that you’d oh-so-conveniently popped in for a cuppa, and one shouldn’t look a gift horse and all that. I was very convincing, and your dad’s a sweetheart and said I could keep you as long as I wanted.’
Patrick was so relieved he could have kissed her, even if she did make him sound like a stray dog that had wandered in for shelter. ‘Thanks.’
She took one of his hands and squeezed it. ‘I told you I’d look after you.’
He couldn’t help it. Pathetic gratitude had him hugging her, his eyes closing as emotion welled again. Jesus, he was becoming a sook but Tash had a way of making him feel special and cared for and a dozen other feelings he couldn’t describe.
‘Right,’ he said, clearing his throat as he let her go. Tash had flushed pink with the hug, which only made him want to do it again. ‘So where’s this stuff you need carried?’
‘Oh …’ She flushed even more. ‘I may have fibbed a little to your dad about that.’ She winced. ‘Oops.’
‘There must be something I can help with.’
‘Not really.’ She eyed the garden. ‘All I had planned was to put up a few more lattice screens to cover the bits of the garden Pa and I haven’t tidied properly yet, and screw in more hooks.’
‘Why the hooks?’
‘I’m going to hang big bundles of jasmine from them. Pa’s letting me raid his vine. They’ll look pretty and smell amazing.’
He glanced around. ‘So where are the screens?’
‘You don’t have to. I can manage.’
But Patrick didn’t want to leave, plus he owed Tash. Big time. ‘I want to.’
Tash tapped her chin, eyeing him. ‘All right.’
An hour later, Patrick was sweating lightly from hammering star droppers and hoisting lattice. Tash was using cable ties to lash the two together, a floppy flowery hat on her head. She’d brought speakers outside and music from their teenage years was blasting through the air. Tash occasionally sang along with the choruses until she remembered she wasn’t alone and quickly shut up. Patrick didn’t mind her singing. She was surprisingly good and he liked her cheeriness. It gave him hope the morning’s meltdown wasn’t as humiliating as he feared.
‘I think this deserves a beer,’ said Tash, standing with her hands on her hips and admiring the finished screens with satisfaction. ‘Want one?’
‘Sure.’
Minutes later she was back with a pair of label-less stubbies and a bowl of what looked like dried peas. She handed him his beer, cracked the top of her own, took a good slug and flopped onto a chair, sighing happily.
Patrick took a tentative sip of his beer and then a longer one. ‘Don’t tell me—your own brew, using hops grown by some artisan you met at a market, and barley roasted to your specifications.’
She giggled. ‘Not quite. Pa’s home brew. Good, isn’t it?’
‘Very.’ He eyed the peas.
‘Wasabi peas,’ said Tash, snatching a few up and looping them individually into her mouth like a pro. ‘Home made. Try one.’
Wasabi. All he knew about it was that it was Japanese and hot. He picked up a couple and ate, chewing warily and then coughing as pungent fumes blasted his sinuses.
‘Sorry. It was a trial mix and the coating turned out a bit hit and miss. You must have struck one of the really hot ones.’
‘Thanks for the warning.’
‘You’re a tough bloke. I had faith you could take it.’
Nice to know someone thought so. Patrick wasn’t feeling even remotely tough. But he was definitely more himself after a sleep and her company. He took a long draught to wash the wasabi taint from his mouth and gazed around. The terrace and garden looked ordinary at the moment: pavers, a bit of lattice, a few pot plants. Not much else in the way of decoration, which was how it was normally done out here, but from watching some of Tash’s Melbourne party videos he suspected the yard wasn’t destined to stay that way.
‘What are you doing about seating?’
‘Ceci—that’s my friend who’s arriving tonight along with my old neighbour Thom—is helping with that.’ Her mouth slanted secretively. ‘You’ll see tomorrow night.’
‘Who else is coming?’
‘My parents, Pa, your parents, Bec and Clip.’ She rattled off several other names of people they’d gone to school with, along with a couple of local farmers. ‘Tony Leonardis said he’d try and make it, but wasn’t sure. I’m doing a profile piece on his free-range piggery in a few weeks. We’re going to spit-roast a suckling pig. Can’t wait. I’ve been told his pork’s incredible.’ She popped a few more peas. ‘Minh from the Spectator is coming too. She’s lovely. She’s going to introduce me to her mum so I can learn some Vietnamese recipes.’
Mention of the Spectator had Patrick’s mind drifting to the photo of Tash that had appeared on its front page. He glanced at her sideways. With her hat-flattened hair, heat-stained cheeks and skin streaked with dirt and sweat, she was nothing like the picture. Then she reached for a few more peas, tilted her face to the sun and opened her mouth ready to catch the tossed snacks, and Patrick couldn’t tear his gaze away.
‘Oh,’ she managed before breaking into a bout of eye-watering coughs, followed by choked giggles. ‘Hot one.’
Patrick grinned, then sobered as he checked the sun again. It had to be nearing mid-afternoon. He’d be due at Springbank soon. He wished he had a beer label to pick at. The thought of visiting Maddy, knowing the falseness of his heart and coping with the Handrecks’ distrust made him fidgety, but he wasn’t about to attempt wasabi roulette again.
‘What time will your friends be arriving?’
‘If they get away when they planned, around seven thirty. I hope Thom remembers the crabs. I should send him a reminder text. He got up early and went to the market this morning to buy me some blue swimmers.’
Patrick pondered how much this Tom thought of Tash if he was doing early-morning market runs for her. He’d seen a couple of comments from Toms on Tash’s Facebook posts, but like all the other names he hadn’t thought much of it. They were people beyond his insular world.
‘I’ve made curry for dinner. We’ll be having bhajis too. You’re welcome to join us.’
He could tell from the careful way she asked that she was hoping he’d say no. Patrick was tempted to say yes though, just to see what this Tom person was like, but he’d find out soon enough at the party. He could always do a bit more sleuthing around Tash’s social media. ‘Thanks, but you’ll want to catch up with your friends on your own and I’m not great company at the moment.’
‘You’re fine, Patrick.’
He wished he felt it, but until he sorted himself out, feeling fine was a long way off. Downing a last slug of beer, Patrick stood and waggled the empty stubbie. ‘What do you want me to with this?’
‘Leave it. I keep a special box of empties aside for Pa.’
He ambled to his ute, needing to leave, not wanting to. Tash followed close by his side and he could feel her scrutiny like the sun on his skin, good but a little burning, as his anxiety over what she must think of him returned.
Patrick opened the door and leaned his arm on the top. He scanned the paddocks, playing for time while he tried to think of a way to express his gratitude without sounding like a total sap. ‘Thank you.’ He grimaced. ‘Sorry. Pretty pathetic thanks after all you’ve done.’
The glow of Tash’s smile seemed to fill the hollow pit in his chest with a special light. ‘Not pathetic, nice. Will you be okay?’
He broke eye contact to look east, towards Springbank and Wiruna, and uncertainty. ‘Yeah. Not much else to do but carry on.’
‘But not alone.’ She reached out to cover his hand with hers. ‘I’m here, if you need me. Any time, Patrick. I mean it.’
The way she said it, so sincerely, with kindness in her gaze, nearly made him choke up. Quickly, before he did something idiotic like cry, he nodded and slid into the car and started the engine. With a brief salute, he bumped down the drive. As he neared the turn past the main house he checked the mirror, but only dust remained. Tash had disappeared. The light in his chest clouded.
By the time he reached Springbank it was almost gone.
The Handrecks were hastily snatching papers off the kitchen table when Patrick knocked and walked in.
‘Patrick,’ said Grant. ‘We weren’t expecting you until later.’
He shrugged, watching Nicola slap another paper on top of her pile and reef the lot to her chest. ‘I was passing. Thought I’d call in.’ His frown deepened as Nicola walked from the kitchen and headed down the hall. He looked at Grant. ‘Did I interrupt?’
‘No, no. We were just going over a few financials.’
Which accounted for Nicola’s furtiveness. Maddy’s care cost a fortune, especially the extra physical therapy they received no assistance for, but the Handrecks weren’t the sort to complain. Nor would they want Patrick worrying.
He flicked his chin towards Maddy’s room. ‘How is she today?’
‘Bit restless.’
Restless. Patrick swallowed as panic throbbed. What if she sensed it? What if the unbroken part of her that was captive in her damaged body knew he’d stopped loving her? What if she was screaming and no one could hear?
Grant was watching him. ‘You all right there, son?’
‘Yeah.’ He forced himself to breathe. ‘Yeah, fine.’
He headed for the room before his courage failed. The French doors were closed, the air conditioner on, and the room had the antiseptic smell of a hospital. Maddy was in the centre, on her bed, face twisted to the wall.
Patrick collected the ring box from its shelf. His back to Maddy, he turned it over in his hands and flipped the lid. Slowly, he took the ring out and weighed it in his palm. One carat of diamonds, unremembered grams of eighteen carat gold, and the heft of a promise made forever.
It may as well have been a manacle.