Bottlebrush Creek Read online

‘You’ve got to set boundaries, Angie. Get Rob to speak to her.’ Bobbi’s wristwatch buzzed. ‘Start running again.’

  Angie picked up her pace. ‘That’s the problem. Rob already talks to her too much. It was her idea to buy Claudia a puppy and some chickens and if she’s not dobbing me in to committees, she’s corralling tradespeople and dropping hints about another grandchild.’

  Angie was breathless from the effort, unlike Bobbi who still managed to run and talk with ease. A wheeze niggled in her chest and she slowed to take a few pumps from her asthma puffer.

  ‘Ray Charles could see her meddling’s coming between you and Rob. You shouldn’t have to play second fiddle to his mum. Only one thing for it. You need to tell her to back off.’

  Angie tried to catch her breath as they turned and retraced their steps. It was easy for Bobbi to say, but Angie knew she’d rather do a five-minute sprint than confront Rosa. What was it Diana always said? Sometimes you’ve got to put up or shut up. They were making progress on the cottage and once they were living there, all these niggles would melt away.

  Angie sank into the shed couch and felt her eyes fluttering shut. She had plenty to do today, but sneaking in a speedy power nap while Claudia slept was too hard to resist. She woke with a start to see Tessa through the shed window, a plastic bag swinging from one hand and a large box in her arms.

  ‘Knock, knock,’ said Tessa before Angie had a chance to open the door.

  Angie held a finger to her mouth and mimed a sleeping baby. Tessa pointed back at the sedan that was still running and lowered her voice.

  ‘Snap, Scarlett’s out cold too. Thought you’d get some use out of this,’ she said, handing the large box over.

  Angie looked inside. A mini-oven. Why didn’t I think of that?

  ‘It’s just a cheapo Kmart one, but it’s yours to borrow as long as you like.’ She handed over the bag. ‘And we’ve got tomatoes coming out our ears. Sing out when you eat them all and I’ll send Brett around with another lot.’

  ‘Thanks, Tessa, you’re a sweetheart.’

  Tessa waved a hand. ‘Don’t mention it. Anyway, I wanted to come around and clap eyes on this new roof Brett’s been telling me about. I was so busy yakking at the party that I forgot to look.’ They both turned and admired it. ‘And I hear the Tidy Towns committee’s trying to draw you in their war against Camperdown.’

  Angie groaned. ‘I’m working hard to get out of that one. I hate to think what else Rosa’s dobbed me in for.’

  ‘Rosa knows everyone in the town, and then some. I’d say she’s trying to help you integrate into Port Fairview, so you’ll feel more at home.’

  If that’s help, I’d hate to see her sabotage tactics. Angie accepted the bag of tomatoes and tried to see the situation from her friend’s perspective.

  ‘Maybe you’re right, Tessa. I hadn’t thought of it like that,’ she said, willing herself to share Tessa’s optimism.

  It’s enthusiasm, Angie told herself as Tessa drove away. Not meddling. Not interfering. Enthusiasm! And if Rosa’s ‘enthusiasm’ is the toughest part of this whole renovation, then we’re pretty darn lucky. She wondered how many times she would need to say it before she started believing it.

  Rosa blew the steam away from her face as she stirred the rich red sauce, thinking of Claudia with each swoop of the wooden spoon. I’ll teach her to cook this lasagne. Show her how to stir a little love into every saucepan, she thought. Her cheeks were flushed not only from the December heat but from pleasure at the thought of summer at the beach with her beautiful granddaughter, delivering hot meals to Rob and Angie, and slowly immersing herself in their lives. The way it should be. Angie might have turned down the offer of Sunday night roasts, but she’ll come around eventually.

  John arrived, and she called out a cheery hello as he scrubbed his hands before heaping his dairy clothes into the washing machine and stepping into the shower.

  He’d come around soon too. Softly, softly, just like she’d handled the discussion on the farm’s future.

  She smoothed her dark hair into a bun, wanting to look nice for her husband, before starting to compile two lasagnes—a small one for them and a bigger one for Rob and Angie. Her eyes looked in the direction of the small granny-flat on the edge of their property and she felt a frisson of excitement as she remembered their imminent guest.

  I’ll be baking for Max soon too, she thought, gathering ingredients for a triple batch of his favourite lemon slice. It hadn’t been easy convincing Max to trade Christmas in Portugal for Port Fairview, but he hadn’t flat-out rejected her suggestion about running the farm or the money she’d sent him for a plane ticket home. And soon we’ll all be together.

  Rosa heard the shower turn off, and John appeared in the doorway. He padded across the kitchen towards her, completely naked. He wrapped his arms around her from behind and ran a hand along her thigh.

  ‘You old nudist,’ she said affectionately, swatting him away.

  ‘Bloke should be able to wander around his house in the raw if he feels like it. Not like the cows are watching from the paddock.’

  ‘No, but we have neighbours now, John. What if Angie drops in?’

  John walked back to the bathroom and returned with a towel around his waist. ‘I’m not changing my ways, Rosa. It’s thirty-eight degrees out there, and you’re steaming up the kitchen with a bake-up in mid-December. Crikey, woman, what do you expect? Besides, not everyone takes the liberty of dropping in on their neighbours unannounced. You’ll want to be careful you don’t wear out your welcome.’

  Rosa turned to face him, pressing a chaste kiss onto his frown. He smelled like soap and her expensive volumising shampoo. ‘At least pull on some shorts. I’ll slip a cold beer into a stubby holder, and then I want to tell you all about my good idea while I make lemon slice.’ She smiled at his grumbles, knowing that as long as he was listening he was persuadable.

  He perched on the stool behind the island bench, taking a swig from the icy can in front of him. His steel-grey hair was neatly combed either side of a part so straight it wouldn’t budge in hundred-kilometre winds. Like the wiry strands growing out of his ears, and the coarse ones he clipped from his nostrils when he thought she wasn’t watching, John’s hair was as stubborn as he was.

  ‘Hit me with it. What’s this big idea, then? Can’t be much bigger than you cutting back at the dairy.’

  Rosa set the lemon juicer aside, dabbed at the sweat on her cheeks with a tea towel and rubbed her lower back. The arthritis had finally given her something other than pain, in providing the perfect conversation opener to convince Max to return. It was going to be such a nice surprise for them all.

  ‘Rob told me how he wants to breed some of those Canadian Speckle Park cows. You know, the ones we saw on Landline a few months ago?’

  John nodded, his brow furrowing again.

  ‘And I was thinking we could help out in some way.’

  She watched him take a long drink, his eyes on the paddocks through the bay window. Rosa turned back to juicing lemons. Forcing an answer wouldn’t aid her cause. This dance had to be played carefully, casually. She had sown a seed. Like her mother had once told her, in an Italian accent as thick as the sea fog that rolled in around 3 p.m., sometimes it’s best to let him take the idea and roll it around in his head until he’s convinced it’s his own.

  She poured the lemon juice into a bowl of icing sugar, stirring as she waited. Rob had only mentioned his cattle-breeding plans in passing, and he certainly hadn’t asked for anything. But Rosa knew a few girls from the herd—only the best mothers, of course—would give Rob a distinct leg-up. She snuck a look at John as she poured sloppy icing over the biscuit bases, and sprinkled coconut on top. He was still looking out the window, his eyes far away. She wondered how he’d react when he saw Max.

  Popping the slice containers into the fridge, she mixed herself a gin and tonic and sat down next to her husband.

  ‘Guess we could offer them a few old girls t
o breed from,’ said John, his brow still creased. ‘The AI guy will be here for the next round of inseminating soon. Wonder if he’s got any Speckle Park semen in stock? Just means we’ll be a dozen Friesian calves down this year.’

  Hook, line and sinker!

  ‘Well, that certainly beats my Christmas present idea,’ Rosa said, sipping delicately. ‘But you’re right, a few cross-bred calves would be the perfect kickstart for their new herd.’ She slipped her hand over his, giving it a squeeze. He wasn’t the most demonstrative man, never free and easy with his affections or compliments, but he was a good man. He just needed a little nudge sometimes, that was all. Soon she’d have them all together again and they could make amends.

  Eighteen

  Angie pulled on her lightly chewed Blundstones and chided herself for forgetting to bring them inside the night before. The tough leather had put up a valiant fight against the determined puppy’s teeth, but moisture from the dewy lawn now seeped into her socks as she strode across to the cottage.

  She dodged a stinky landmine as she walked, and knew she’d need to remind Rob about collecting the dog poo again. Angie called for Claudia, but again the only response was the warbling magpies and loud music from the electricians. Her impatience surged as she walked through the cottage, giving the sparkies a wave. She checked each room. No Claudia.

  At least she’s sticking to the rule about not wandering through the building site without me or Rob, conceded Angie. But it still didn’t make her or the pup any easier to find. It was almost as if Claudia knew they needed to be in town at 10 a.m. and was determined to make them late.

  ‘Claudia, we’ve got to go!’ called Angie, straining to hear a small giggle, or anything that would give away her daughter’s location. Her phone rang just as Violet gave a sharp yap. She answered the call and wedged the phone against her shoulder as she headed towards the chook house—of course Claudia would hide where Mum was least likely to search. She hoped it wasn’t Mrs Ellis pointing out another typo in the dahlia show program or asking for an extra page on the website.

  ‘G’day, Ed Nevins here. I’ve got a delivery for Rob Jones, should be there in an hour. You right to unload?’

  Angie looked at the time on her phone, walking faster as she realised they were already late for their appointment. ‘I’m headed into Port Fairview now, but I can juggle a few things and make it back in time. What’s the delivery? I’m no weightlifter, but I’m happy to lend a hand.’

  ‘A pallet of tiles. See you in an hour.’

  Angie ended the call and in the next instant felt the ground disappear from beneath her feet. The phone flew from her hands and pain ripped through her left ankle. She landed on the grass with a jolt, millimetres from another foul dog poo.

  ‘Ouch!’ She pulled herself up and realised she had stepped into one of Violet’s new holes in their previously flat lawn. ‘For God’s sake.’

  Each step set off a fresh wave of pain and by the time she’d hobbled to the henhouse, she was in no mood for hide-and-seek. The chooks were running around the coop with Claudia and Violet hot on their tails.

  ‘Claudia—achoo!—come out of the chook house now and bring—achoo!—Violet with you. Those chickens will never lay any eggs if you two keep playing in there. Quick! And watch out for dog poo.’

  She grabbed Violet by the collar and clipped the dog’s lead in place. Claudia followed dolefully, straw and feathers snagged in her blonde curls, and pouted the entire trip to the vet’s surgery. Despite Claudia’s protests, Angie kept the little girl buckled firmly in her seat when she hobbled inside with Violet and limped back to the car alone.

  ‘Stop crying, Claud, we’ll pick Violet up this afternoon,’ said Angie. ‘She just needs a little operation’—with a very big price tag, she thought, wondering when the dog would start endearing itself to her. Perhaps when Rob and Claudia started training Violet and cleaning up after her, or when she grew out of the shoe-chewing, chicken-chasing, jumping-up stage.

  Claudia had nodded off to sleep in her car seat by the time Angie arrived back home. A delivery truck idled in the driveway and the rotund man leaning against the truck door sucked on a cigarette as if it contained life’s elixir.

  ‘What took you? You’re me last customer before I head to Bali for Chrissy. Chop chop, missy.’

  Angie coughed as she hobbled out of the car. Cigarette smoke irritated her asthma at the best of times, and she longed for a southerly breeze to disperse it. ‘I rolled my ankle earlier, but I’ll give it a go. How long does it normally take to unpack a pallet? Half an hour? How many boxes do we need to move?’

  The truck driver let out a barking laugh, which quickly segued into a phlegmy cough. ‘Now there’s a good one. Ain’t got all day to do it by hand. I thought you said you were right to unload?’

  Angie looked at him blankly. ‘I am. Well, I was before I fell over, but I’ll soldier on regardless.’

  His incredulous expression made her feel tiny. She thought of Bobbi and drew herself up a little taller. Stop pussyfooting around the subject, just get on with it. ‘But how else would we unload it? You didn’t expect me to have a forklift in my garage, did you?’

  The driver scratched his balding head. ‘That, or a front-end loader. When you said you were right to unload, and I saw your address was a rural property, I thought we were on the same page. I don’t have time to trek back to Warrnambool and collect me forklift. Not missing me plane for a few tiles. I’ll deliver it after New Year’s.’

  He started to heave his large body back into the truck cabin. Angie saw their holiday tiling plans slipping through her fingers. She wanted to be ready in case the tiler fitted them in early. ‘Wait, don’t go yet. We … ah …’

  She looked over her shoulder at the tractor in the hay shed. John and Rosa wouldn’t mind her borrowing it.

  The guy glanced at her from the truck steps. ‘I’ve got a plane to catch, missy. You either unload now, or you’ll have to wait till mid-January.’

  ‘I’ll drive the tractor over and you can lift the pallet out.’

  He shrugged, using the end of his cigarette to light another. ‘No can do, I’m afraid. Your tractor, your risk. My insurance don’t cover other people’s machinery.’

  Angie debated internally for a minute, dismissing the idea of calling Rob for back-up as the driver tapped his watch. She turned and moved as fast as her sore ankle would allow. Her hands quivered as she climbed into John’s tractor cab, grateful it was a similar vintage and model to the one she’d learned to drive at McIntyre Park. She reversed out of the hay shed jerkily, keeping the machine in first gear until she was lined up with the back of the truck.

  No big deal. Just slip the forks in, lift the pallet, and we’re sorted.

  Angie took a deep breath as she reached for the hydraulics lever and held it as she crept closer to the truck.

  ‘Oi! Steady, you’re only a couple of inches away from the left hinge. Back out and straighten up again.’

  Angie slammed on the brakes when she saw how close the tractor forks had come to spearing a hole through the side of his truck.

  Breathe, Angie, breathe.

  She inched back, nearly wetting herself when a sharp screech came from beneath a back tyre. She immediately thought of Claudia as she threw on the handbrake and climbed down to see what she’d run over. The cigarette in the truck driver’s mouth quivered as he pulled a rubber chicken out from beneath the tractor.

  Violet’s chew-toy. Angie cursed the dog again as she quickly checked on Claudia.

  Still asleep.

  She climbed back into the tractor. It took another three attempts to get the forks under the pallet. Her pulse went into freefall when she lifted the load and the tractor bucked under the weight of the tiles.

  Oh God, don’t drop them. Easy, easy. A little more.

  Angie’s shirt was drenched in sweat by the time the pallet touched down on the driveway. She limped across to sign the consignment note.

  ‘I’ll
be sure to have a cold Bintang for ya, missy. Happy Christmas, eh?’

  Angie sagged against the tractor tyre and thanked her lucky stars she hadn’t had time to fret. And beneath the relief and gratitude that her inexpert handling hadn’t annihilated a 5000-dollar pallet of tiles, she felt proud of herself.

  The Port Fairview Pub was heaving with holiday-makers, and swags of tinsel and fairy lights added to the marine décor. Rob mopped up the last of his gravy and pushed aside his plate, nodding at Angie’s barely touched meal. ‘You going to eat that?’ Isn’t she starving?

  Angie stopped pushing the battered fish around with her fork as he stole another chip. ‘You can have it. I should’ve sent it back when it arrived battered and not grilled, and with chips instead of salad, but they’d probably have messed it up a second time anyway.’

  Rob glanced at Bobbi’s salad. Rabbit food. Ange used to like fish and chips. She would’ve eaten it now if Bobbi wasn’t watching her like a hawk.

  Brett looked up from his steak. ‘Still two weeks until Christmas and the pub’s already a madhouse. Gets worse every year.’

  Rob tugged the plate towards him, nodding at the line of hungry customers flanking the bar. ‘Understaffing’s probably a tactic to sell more beer.’

  ‘I’d make a complaint if it were my meal,’ said Bobbi.

  Brett shot Rob a look.

  Bet she would, thought Rob, starting in on the fish before Angie followed Bobbi’s suggestion. No matter how much Angie raved about that woman, he couldn’t see the appeal.

  ‘Tell them the tile pallet story, Ange. Brett and Tessa haven’t heard it yet,’ said Rob. Pride welled in his chest as she relayed the story to his friends. She’d already bowled him over with her work on the cottage, and now this. He loved how this project kept revealing new depths.

  ‘Geez, that’s impressive, Angie,’ said Tessa. ‘I can’t even remember the last time I drove a tractor. God, imagine if they’d slipped off the end of the forks?’

  Rob watched a proud flush spread across Angie’s cheeks. That’s my girl.