The blustery Easter weekend gave way to a fine and calm week. With Patrick busy at Wiruna, Tash attempted to finish the oven herself. Patrick and Pa had fitted the lintel and reinforcing into the besser blocks already, and the rest was a matter of grunt and following instructions.
With a great deal of creative cursing, sweat and grazed knuckles, Tash managed to hoist the almost-thirty-kilogram fibre-cement base into the cavity on top of the steel supports. Shovelfuls of insulating fill followed. After packing it down she spread a layer of builder’s sand, which she levelled using her trusty screed while lasering ‘I dare you’ glares at Coco.
She was returning from town in the ute with a brick cutter secured to its back when her father wandered over with Missy, the farm’s working kelpie, on his heels.
‘What the hell’s that?’ he asked.
‘A brick cutter,’ said Tash, untying ropes.
His fists went to his hips. ‘Oh, no you don’t.’
‘Why not? I managed the rest.’ And she was damn proud of it too.
‘You don’t know how to use it.’
‘I do. Bryan at Ashton’s showed me.’
‘No. Where’s Patrick anyway?’ Peter hunted around as if expecting him to pop out from behind a tree. ‘I thought he was helping.’
‘He has a farm to run.’ Tash bugged her eyes at him. ‘Like you do.’
‘Don’t get smart with me. My farm, my rules.’ He pulled off his hat and scratched his head. ‘I’ll call Dad.’
Tash had to concede defeat, and only because the cutter was too heavy for her to lift down from the ute on her own. She poked her tongue at her dad’s back as he strode off. She’d been looking forward to using the cutter. It was loud and powerful and possessed an exhilarating degree of danger.
The challenge of the oven dome would also help keep her mind off Patrick and his peculiar behaviour. At least she understood him when he was upset about Maddy or in one of his butthead moods, but this new reticence bothered her. She thought they’d moved past that.
Monday he’d been quiet. Tuesday night even quieter. He kept his distance too—his stool moved a little further from hers while they ate, his body angled away as he helped dry those pots and pans she preferred to hand wash. Yet she could feel his eyes following her every move. In all likelihood he was simply stressed about Maddy being in care and feeling isolated from her, but Tash couldn’t escape the feeling it was more about her. She took to studying him when she thought he wasn’t looking, trying to figure it out, which made for even more awkward moments when their attempts at surreptitious gazing clashed.
By Friday the oven was complete and Tash couldn’t stop admiring her creation as it slowly warmed and came to true fulfilment under its first careful firing. Pa, at least, had let her use the brick cutter—under supervision and covered with every piece of protective gear he could find around the farm—which meant that not only had she shaped each brick, she’d laid them too, including the difficult arch. The satisfaction of it had Tash prancing about in glee.
‘I can’t wait to use it,’ she said, settling under Pa’s arm to marvel over it yet again.
‘You’ll have to have a party. Invite Patrick and a few others.’
‘I’ll do that. We could have a pizza night. Or slow-roast some lamb shoulder.’ She gave him a fond poke. ‘You could bring Sylvia.’
‘What makes you think I’d want to bring the good widow Ellison?’
‘Oh, no reason. She does drive a silver Hyundai though?’
His arm fell away. ‘You’ve been spying.’
‘I have not,’ said Tash, puffing up with feigned indignation. ‘I happened to be driving past yesterday morning and noticed you had company, that’s all. Very early company.’
Pa straightened his shoulders. ‘She likes my poached eggs.’
‘I bet she does.’ Tash squealed and ducked out of the way as Pa went to give her a swipe.
‘You’re just jealous.’
‘Not this little black duck.’
‘You should be. Young girl like you should be enjoying some romance.’
‘No time.’ She bent to inspect the mouth of the oven. The fire was burning quietly, fuelled by small splinters of kindling to keep the initial temperature low. Over the hours Tash would add more fuel until the entire floor was covered. She poked the coals and threw in a few more slivers of red gum.
Pa was watching her intently, mouth pursed. ‘Let an old man give you a bit of advice?’
‘Of course.’ She smiled. ‘You’re going to anyway.’
‘No one ever reaches their deathbed and says, damn, I wish I’d worked more. You know what they say? They say they wish they’d played more, explored more, discovered and seen more. But you know what they wish for the most? That they’d loved more. They say, I wish I’d spent more time with the people I care about. I wish I realised how precious they were to me and me to them.’
‘Pa—’
‘No, Floss, you listen. You don’t get to my age without regrets and the biggest of mine is that I didn’t spend more time with your nan.’ His voice hoarsened. ‘Now she’s gone and any chance of ever repairing that’s lost forever.’
Tash turned to fold her arms around him. ‘I’m sorry, Pa.’
‘Don’t be sorry for me. My life, my mistakes.’ He stroked her hair. ‘Just don’t go making the same ones.’
His words left Tash feeling chastised and glum. She did want love but this wasn’t the year for it. Or the place, given her plans. More importantly, the person she had feelings for was not only too messed up to know his own heart, he was engaged to her best friend. Tash was expert at analysing recipes, and that one would never work.
The oven took most of the day to cure. Tash tended it between playing fetch with Coco and bringing Khan in for a brush and a pick at the lawn. She should have been writing or editing or, more boringly, checking cash flows and financials, but it was too easy to brood inside. The chilly air kept her sharp, the animals kept her diverted.
But as the dark came in, sweeping even colder air with it, Tash was forced inside. Her mum and dad were off to a friend’s birthday dinner, leaving the main house empty of company, and for the first time since her arrival Tash felt the weight of her single status. Ceci was seeing a band with Brandon. Even Thom had a date tonight with a girl from work.
As for her Emu Springs friends, they had their own lives and routines. Other than the party, which was mostly business, Tash hadn’t made the effort to reconnect either. Perhaps deep down she’d been scared to. Although she’d eventually got over her homesickness when she’d first moved to Melbourne, Tash still remembered the painful wrench of leaving home. She might be older and tougher, but that wasn’t something she wanted to go through again, and how long would she have here anyway? How long before she ran out of people to interview, local produce to showcase? How long before her viewers became bored and moved on to some flashier, more exciting channel?
It would happen one day; she wasn’t a complete fool. The internet was fickle, but with careful management she could insulate herself against obsolescence. Producing a great cookbook that people used and talked about, that featured in magazines and on morning television, would go a long way to achieving that. High sales would mean another contract, more guest appearances, more sponsorship and advertising for her online channels. The income wheel would keep spinning.
If Tash lost that, what kind of future would she have?
Dinner was reheated casserole that Tash ate in front of her laptop and washed down with a glass of wine. Earlier, she’d posted the oven photos to her own sites and updated Pa’s and Coco’s Facebook pages with snaps of their activities. From the amount of comments, she wasn’t the only person whiling away their Friday night alone.
Farmer Fred had left an admiring comment below a photo of Tash striking a victory pose and grinning loonily in front of her oven. Cold had turned her nose and cheeks bright pink but that hadn’t detracted from her joy and pride. Tash jotted a note of thanks in return before scanning the others.
A few minutes later a flag appeared at the top of her page, indicating she had a private message. Recognising Farmer Fred’s lantern-jawed avatar, she read on.
‘Just wanted you to know how gorgeous you are.’
Tash nibbled at her thumbnail, contemplating how to answer. She didn’t know anything about him, so it was prudent to be wary. A simple ‘thanks’ seemed most appropriate—grateful but not encouraging—but she couldn’t help adding ‘I hope you’re having a more exciting night than me’.
His reply came back almost instantly. ‘I doubt that. Home. Alone.’
She typed ‘Me too’ then deleted it and typed, ‘You could always watch footy’.
‘Nah,’ he wrote. ‘Prefer your videos. More entertaining. Girls who use brick cutters are hot.’
Tash laughed. Pa had forced her to wear safety goggles, gloves and a leather apron—unflattering was an understatement. ‘You need to get out more.’
‘Tell me about it.’
There seemed nothing else to add. Tash hesitated then ended the conversation with ‘Enjoy your night. Bye.’
‘Sleep well, gorgeous girl.’
She looked at the words he’d typed, uncertain whether to be creeped out or not. Chances were he was old and lonely and looking for a friend, perhaps even more, but there were better places to fulfil that need than her Facebook page.
Saturday afternoon brought sunshine but a nasty southerly. Tash rugged up in her Saints beanie and scarf and joined her dad for an afternoon at the football. It was the first game of the season and the Saints were playing at home. Cars were parked nose-in around the oval in a colourful coronet. Near the clubhouse, 44-gallon drums filled with thick slabs of timber burned, and supporters huddled around clutching beers, soft drinks and coffees. The canteen was doing a brisk trade in pies and hot chips, while the barbecue to the side wafted the seductive smell of grilled onions, minute steaks and fatty sausages.
Tash ordered herself a steak sandwich and tightened her scarf as she scanned the crowd for people she knew. Plenty recognised her, passing with smiles and nods or curious glances. She’d never been much of a footy fan growing up, spending most of her weekends riding with Maddy and cooking with her nan when the weather was too foul for outside activities.
‘Tash!’ yelled Bec, bustling over and kissing her cheek. ‘Great to see you here. Oh,’ she said, looking wistfully at Tash’s steak sandwich, already dripping juice and sauce. ‘I’d kill for one of those.’
‘So have one.’ Tash took a bite and sucked on her greasy fingers. ‘They’re good.’
‘Can’t.’ She grimaced. ‘Wedding diet.’
‘Months away and one won’t hurt. Go on.’
Bec’s mouth twisted as she made a frustrated groaning kind of noise, before slumping her shoulders. ‘Oh, all right.’ She pointed a finger at Tash. ‘Your fault though.’
Tash grinned. ‘Happy to take all the blame. Life’s too short to diet.’
‘Says she who doesn’t have to worry about looking like an albino elephant in her wedding photos.’
Sandwiches in hand, they wandered the boundary to Clip’s ute and perched on the bonnet with their feet up on the bull bar. The players were out warming up, practising drills and goal kicking. Tash watched Patrick as he handballed on the run and took a leaping mark when his teammate kicked it back.
The difference between him and the other Saints players was marked. Patrick looked as though he wasn’t even trying. He handballed with slick ease, his leads surging with explosive power, his jumps arcing high and graceful.
‘Talented, isn’t he?’ said Bec.
‘Yes.’
‘It’s good to have him back properly. He was pretty useless last year.’ Bec chewed, watching Clip sprint through his turn of the drill. ‘Not useless, just not the player he was.’
‘Too distracted by Maddy I imagine.’
‘Yeah. He only played because Clip begged him to. He’s better this year though.’ She fed the last of her sandwich into her mouth and wiped her fingers on her napkin. ‘Hope he stays that way. Team needs him.’ She eyed Tash. ‘Good of you to come. Maddy never used to.’
Tash frowned at the inference she was here for Patrick. ‘I only tagged along because Dad asked.’
Bec gave her a raised eyebrow that reeked of ‘sure you did’ before concentrating back on the Saints.
The game was as ugly and dirty as the wind. Players scrambled, out of practice and match fitness, countering their lack of skill with aggression. Tash winced each time the pack thundered past, her heart skipping as she kept fearful eyes on Patrick. No matter where the ball, he appeared in the thick of play, laying tackles or taking them, somehow plucking the ball from a tangle of legs and arms and running on to boot it forward with unfailing accuracy.
Even with Patrick’s best efforts the Saints were down at quarter-time and still trailing at half-time. Tash followed Bec to the gate to cheer the team as they came off. Noticing Tash, a mud-splattered Clip exchanged a wink and thumbs-up with Bec before trudging on. Patrick was at the rear, hands on his hips and chest heaving as he sucked in air. He caught Tash’s gaze, her heart racing at the surprise then elation in his expression.
‘You’re here,’ he said, stopping in front of her, muscled, heroic and deliciously manly.
‘Yes.’
‘That’s great.’ His gaze flitted over her face, as though he still couldn’t believe she was there. ‘It’s good to see you.’
‘You’re playing well.’
‘Not well enough.’ He rubbed at his sweat- and dirt-streaked forehead, then seemed to realise the others had gone on without him. ‘I’ll see you after?’
‘Sure.’
He jogged off with a grin, his footy boots clattering a tattoo on the concrete.
Tash treated them to coffees and hot chips that Bec swore she wouldn’t touch but helped scoff regardless, while complaining that Tash was a bad influence.
‘Make that a good influence,’ Bec murmured halfway through the third term when Patrick took yet another mark forty metres out from goal.
Tash barely heard her, she was too busy bursting with pride. Shoving her fingers into her mouth, she blasted a whistle as the ball sailed between the posts and the umpire signalled another goal to the Saints. Patrick’s goal had put them in front by five points.
‘You do realise he’s doing it for you.’
Tash banged on the bonnet to add to the noise. ‘Doing what?’
‘Putting on a blinder, you nong. It’s you.’
She screwed up her nose. ‘Nothing to do with me.’ She cupped her hands around her mouth and bellowed, ‘Come on, Saints!’
Bec stared at her for a moment before shaking her head and focusing back on the game.
By match end, Tash’s voice was as husky as a pack-a-day smoker’s. The Saints had hung on by eight points and Patrick was best on ground by a country mile.
‘I guess I’d better go hunt down Dad,’ said Tash, sliding off the bonnet and rewrapping her scarf. She had taken to twirling it around her head after her voice began to give out. ‘Thanks for the company. I wouldn’t have known who was who without you.’
Bec jumped down after her. ‘Aren’t you staying?’
‘No way to get home.’
‘Don’t be silly. Patrick will drop you off.’
Remembering how he’d looked coming off the field at half-time, like a warrior coming in from battle, Tash experienced a strange wash of shyness. ‘No, it’s okay.’
‘But you said you’d hang around.’
She had, but now the prospect had her flustered. She opened her mouth, closed it, and combed the milling crowd for her dad.
‘I’ll drop you home if necessary,’ Bec pressed harder. ‘The boys will talk footy for hours. I need someone to drink with.’
‘I thought you were on a diet?’
Bec rolled her eyes. ‘God, Tash. Everyone knows liquids don’t count.’
After tracking down Peter and relaying their plans, Bec hooked her arm through Tash’s and marched her into the clubhouse. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been inside. It had to be years, when her brother Matt played before he left for university. The clubrooms possessed the cheering comfort of a community in action, of memories and recognition. Premiership flags from the Saints’ glory days hung above the bar. A trophy cabinet glittered with silverware and memorabilia. Mounted red, white and black guernseys smothered in signatures graced the walls, alongside timber honour boards. The Lawson name featured prominently.
‘Will you have dinner here as well?’ Tash asked.
‘Not unless Clip wants to,’ said Bec, passing over a beer. ‘But I doubt he’ll last that long. Clip’s not eighteen anymore. Give him an hour and the bruises and strains will start to take their toll and the big baby’ll be sooking for pizza and bed.’
Other wives and girlfriends wandered in and gravitated into groups. Bec steered Tash to one of the most animated and made introductions to the few people Tash didn’t recognise from school or around town. Questions about The Urban Ranger and her plans for the future flowed. Tash answered as generously as she could but her mind kept drifting elsewhere.
‘It takes them a while to cool down, do their post-game analysis and shower,’ said Bec, noticing Tash’s glances towards the door. ‘Give them another ten.’
Sure enough, ten minutes later the team began trickling in to more cheers and claps. Patrick received the most of all. A beer was thrust into his hands. He raised it and drank, his gaze sweeping the room. As it locked on Tash a grin formed, only to slide away as he was dragged aside by a teammate.
The groups of women shrank in size as they went off to track down partners. With Clip and Patrick occupied, Tash and Bec found a table and settled in to wait.
‘That was handy,’ said Tash, tapping the hairdresser’s card she’d been given. ‘I’ve been wondering who to go to.’
Bec cupped a hand to her ear. ‘Did you hear that?’
‘What?’
‘That noise. The one that sounds like half a dozen noses going out of joint.’ Bec grinned at Tash’s lack of understanding. ‘God, you’re thick. There’s probably been a book going since you came home on whose salon you’d choose.’
Tash groaned. ‘Don’t say that.’
‘So hard being a superstar. Everyone wants a piece of you.’ Bec’s eyes drifted upwards. ‘Speaking of which.’
Tash turned to find Patrick behind her. Heat prickled her cheeks. It was likely because she was sitting but he seemed taller somehow, more athletic. His hair was still damp from the shower, dark and spiked. She caught the scent of soap and clean clothes and felt a strong urge to bury her nose in his belly.
To Tash’s embarrassment her voice, already hoarse from cheering, emerged even huskier. ‘And the hero of the hour finally arrives.’
Grinning, he pulled out the chair next to her and sat. ‘Have a good day?’
‘I did.’ She pointed to her throat, now bare of her scarf, the collar of her red shirt open thanks to the warmth of the clubrooms. ‘Although I might have cheered too much.’
‘I heard you.’ His gaze lingered over her exposed throat and neck before lifting to her eyes. ‘Nice whistling. I’d forgotten you could do that.’
‘I’m a girl of many talents.’
‘Yeah, you are.’ He indicated her drink. ‘Want another one?’
‘I’d better not.’
‘Right. You’re driving.’
‘No,’ said Bec. ‘You are.’
Patrick looked at Tash. ‘I’m dropping you home?’
‘If that’s okay.’
‘Sure.’ He glanced around. The crowd was thinner now.
Bec swallowed the last of her beer and rose. ‘I’d better hunt down Clip before he drinks himself too stupid.’
‘Too late,’ Patrick quipped.
‘Oi,’ said Bec, clipping him over the ear. ‘That’s my future husband you’re talking about.’
Patrick grinned before addressing Tash. ‘Ready then?’
They left as a foursome, curiosity following in their wake. Tash tried to keep her head up and shoulders back, but a tiny bit of shame kept crawling over her skin. No matter how innocent, she was walking into the night with another woman’s fiancé, and the guilt of it was horrible.
The temperature had plummeted. Steam punctuated their farewells to Clip and Bec. Tash huddled in her coat and made ‘brr’ noises as they tromped to Patrick’s ute. He pressed his hand to the centre of her back. Her conscience had her wanting to shake it off. Other feelings had her wanting it to stay.
The radio covered their lack of talk until they reached Castlereagh Road. Patrick swung onto the gravel, the headlights catching a fox scuttling into the tall grass along the verge. He glanced at Tash. ‘Thanks for coming today.’
‘I hadn’t planned to, but Dad asked this morning if I wanted to tag along and I thought, why not?’ she said. ‘Matt was still playing the last time I went to the footy. I’d forgotten what fun it could be. I kept meaning to take photos but every time I thought of it something exciting would happen and I’d forget again.’ She stared straight ahead, the words ‘You were amazing’ hanging on her tongue, but they hung too long and the moment passed.
He indicated and turned into the farm, and drove slowly towards her flat. The lights of her parents’ house slashed beams across the darkness. Tash made out her mum’s silhouette in the kitchen, the pause in her movements as the ute passed.
Patrick pulled up behind Tash’s car. For a moment, neither said anything. Tash twisted her fingers together in her lap, wondering where this new nervousness had come from. They were friends. He knew it. She knew it.
‘I have food,’ she said.
‘You always have food.’
‘I mean I have dinner, if you want.’
He shook his head, hands still curled around the wheel. ‘I should go.’
‘Of course. You must be tired.’ Tash hesitated for a few heartbeats, then unclipped her seatbelt and slid out. She stood in the shivery night, uncertainty knotting her insides, while the warm air from inside the ute spiralled out and into the sky and the silence grew longer.
Patrick leaned across the seat, frowning. ‘Tash?’
‘Sorry. Daydreaming.’ She pressed her hand to the door, then suddenly the words were gushing out. ‘You were amazing today. The way you played, your talent … I was …’ She sucked in a breath and fixed her shoulders. ‘I just want you to know that it made me proud to be your friend.’
Patrick was so still he seemed frozen.
‘Sorry.’
Slowly, he shook his head. ‘No. Don’t be sorry.’ He held her gaze. ‘Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome. Although don’t get a big head.’
He laughed. ‘I’ll try.’
Neither made a move to leave. Tash debated offering dinner again.
‘Oh,’ she said instead as Coco wiggled her way against her legs, the dog’s cold nose nuzzling her hands. Relieved at the distraction, she patted and made a fuss. Coco’s tail made happy thuds against the side of the ute. ‘My company for the night.’
‘Some dogs,’ said Patrick, smiling faintly with one corner of his mouth and putting the ute into gear, ‘get all the luck.’