Bottlebrush Creek Page 12

  He glanced at her hand. In less than a week there’d be a pearl and glittering diamonds there—a sign of how much he loved her for everyone to see. ‘Jack-of-all-trades, this one,’ he said, resting a hand on her thigh.

  ‘Small-business owner, kid wrangler, tireless volunteer … What a package. You’d better whack a ring on her finger before someone else snaps her up, Rob,’ said Bobbi.

  Rob nearly choked on a mouthful of fish. Jesus, last thing he wanted was someone to pre-empt his proposal.

  ‘Yes, that’d be the smart move, Rob. She’s the type of girl you want in charge of your business and budgets,’ said Alex.

  Rob felt an elbow in his ribs.

  ‘That’s exactly what I said,’ laughed Angie, flashing him a ‘told you so’ grin. ‘But no, someone’s determined to handle all the bookwork himself.’

  Rob felt everyone’s eyes on him. He squirmed in his seat. Do we really need to get into this here? ‘You handed it over happily,’ he said. Between the dahlia society, the DIY reno and caring for Claudia, Ange had welcomed his suggestion to leave the budgeting to him.

  ‘No use both of us losing sleep over the budget,’ Rob shrugged. He wolfed down the rest of Angie’s meal.

  The women returned to their chat and Alex braved the queue at the bar.

  ‘Haven’t you told Angie why you’re so funny about money, mate?’ asked Brett.

  Rob stopped chewing. ‘Hasn’t really come up.’

  Brett let out a low whistle. ‘Maaaate … you’re game, keeping that under your belt.’

  The fish sat like lead in his belly after that. Maybe he should tell her. No, he decided. I’ll show her instead. Just like I’ll show Dad I can finish what I’ve started.

  I’ll get my business humming and our renos sorted, and then she’ll know I’m good with money. Not like Max.

  Rob waited until Ange and Claudia were fast asleep before he snuck out of the van and crept across the yard. The torchlight bounced off the hay shed wall as he got closer, and Violet bounded in after him, her tail thumping on the dusty ground. He lifted the lid on the first plastic storage tub.

  ‘Make yourself useful, pup. Catch some mice.’

  He pushed the dog’s nose away from the container of baking tins and towards the stacked hay. Judging from the mouse turd littering the tubs, there had to be hundreds of the buggers around.

  Maybe we need a few cats too, he thought, clamping the torch between his teeth and unclipping another storage tub. Violet scrambled up the hay bales, barking loud enough to wake the dead. He hoped it wasn’t loud enough to wake a dead-tired Angie, but he wasn’t taking any chances. He pitched a silicone baking mitt in the pup’s direction, groaning as it wedged on top of the highest bale. Retrieving it would be a job for another day.

  ‘Put a sock in it, Violet!’

  Rob picked up the pace, searching through the next three storage containers until he found what he’d come for. He flipped through the pages of the well-loved book, smiling as little clouds of flour and icing sugar puffed into the air. Violet came racing down the haystack, hot on the tail of a large rat. She knocked the book from his hands in her frenzied pursuit. It fell to the ground with a thud, and in the light of the torch beam, he saw a lined piece of paper flutter from between the pages. He shone the torch on the recipe, his worry replaced with triumph. Gotcha. Rob clipped the lid shut on the storage tub and headed across to his parents’ place. Ange is going to love this.

  The sun was high in the sky and scorching hot, and the corellas frustratingly chirpy, when Angie tried Rob’s mobile phone for a second time. She jiggled Bobbi’s son Oscar on her hip and grimaced at the building inspector when the call went straight to voicemail again.

  ‘I’m so sorry. Rob said he’d be here.’

  The man shifted his clipboard, pulled a pen from the top pocket of his neatly pressed uniform and walked towards the house. ‘I’ve got another inspection in forty-five minutes, and the cement trucks there will be waiting for my sign-off. Surely you can show me around?’

  She hesitated, balancing logic and practicality against self-doubt. ‘Rob’s the main builder. He knows all the nitty gritty. I’m just the lackey,’ said Angie. What if he found a problem with the wall frames or they failed the inspection because she couldn’t explain something adequately?

  The building inspector drew his shaggy eyebrows together. ‘Give yourself more credit’—he consulted his clipboard—‘Angie. Your hands are covered in putty, those calluses are as big as any bloke’s, and you’re holding on to that set of plans like they’re your child’s birth certificate. I’m pretty sure you’re as much a part of this build as he is.’ He gestured to the cottage. ‘I can come back after Christmas, but you’ve jumped the gun a bit putting the new weatherboards on before getting the framework inspection signed off, so we don’t have any more time to lose.’

  Angie scanned the road for Rob’s work ute, or the trail of dust that usually preceded his arrival. Nothing. She hoped his tardiness was because he was working on the O’Connell’s kitchen, and not because he was filling in for the pre-Christmas cricket match. She’d heard enough of Brett’s pleading to know they were short of players, and from Rob’s wistful tone when he’d declined, she was pretty sure he would’ve liked to. Has Brett managed to convince him?

  Angie pushed the thought aside as she popped Oscar in the pram and wheeled it next to the sandpit so he could watch Claudia and Jayden play. She led the inspector up the front stairs. ‘Looks like you’re stuck with me then,’ she said, taking one last look at the lane before she pushed the door open. It swung freely on its refurbished hinges, lighter since she’d stripped off the multiple coats of thick dull paint.

  ‘Nice door. Good to see people retaining the old leadlight panels too, instead of replacing them with all-new glass,’ he said.

  Angie smiled at the compliment, glad she’d pushed for black gloss paint instead of the bland ivory Rob had suggested. The bold colour looked smart against the grey undercoat, and she knew it would pop against the duck-egg blue top-coat.

  Light flooded in through the new windows as they walked through the rooms, the mix of original hardwood frames contrasting with the green treated-pine framing in the kitchen extension. Angie loitered beside the building inspector, pointing out the slight variations they’d made to the original plans. Her heart hammered as he went quiet, thumbed through his notes and pulled out his tape measure.

  Angie made an excuse about checking something and wandered into the kitchen, trying not to focus on how much she wanted today’s inspection to go smoothly. Needed it to go smoothly, so they could stick to their schedule. She glanced around the shell of the room that would become the heart of their home.

  Without the old cabinets cluttering the view, she could imagine it clearly. The dining table would go by the window, the island bench would be long enough to handle a full day’s baking and there’d be enough cupboards to store her cake stands, platters, mixing bowls and oven trays. It was a blank canvas awaiting their brushstrokes, and today’s inspection would pave the way for progress. They needed to make every day count.

  The inspector jotted something on his clipboard, unclipped the form and passed it to her. ‘I’ll mail out the official report in the next few days.’

  Angie scanned the sheet, barely able to make out his scribble.

  ‘Not many inspections get full marks, but your project, young Angie, is almost faultless. A credit to you. A few more lengths of bracing along the kitchen wall frames and you’ll be right. Keep up the good work.’ Angie felt her confidence blossom as she scanned his brief recommendations.

  I can do this. I am doing this.

  She waved him off and turned to the sandpit. The pram was still there with Oscar happily sucking on a sandy spade, but there was no sign of the older two now. Angie did a slow 360, scanning the yard.

  ‘Claud? Jayden?’

  Panic set in as she hoisted Oscar onto her hip and scoured the usual spots, but they weren’t in
the mulberry tree or the chook pen either. Angie squirmed as she pulled a feather from her hair, hoping she hadn’t caught some type of avian lice. Icky things.

  A riot of laughter came from the shed, but Angie’s relief evaporated when she stormed inside and entered the bathroom.

  Her beauty products were upended in the shower. Moisturiser, cleanser, toner, foundation, eye shadow and shimmery blush were smeared across every tile in an abstract artwork.

  ‘You little buggers,’ she scolded, torn between laughing at their cheeky expressions and crying over the wasted beauty products worth more than the weekly grocery bill. She picked up the bottles. The containers were almost weightless.

  ‘Granny painting. Claud painting,’ said Claudia, brightly.

  Angie cringed, remembering the foamy bath paints Rosa had bought for Claudia’s birthday. They’d run out last night, and evidently Claudia had found herself a new alternative. Rosa, Rosa, Rosa, thought Angie. She undressed the children and willed herself not to look at the empty bottles or dwell on the cost as she turned on the shower.

  Diana’s words echoed in her head: It’s when they’re quiet that you should be most worried.

  I’ll have to be smarter with the building supplies. Better to learn my lesson with moisturiser than construction adhesive.

  Rob’s elbow twanged as he passed Claudia the sticky tape, payback for every over he’d bowled the previous afternoon. The Fairview Seagulls may have won by seventy runs, but coming off the cricket field to seven missed phone calls and a lukewarm reaction from Ange had dampened any sense of celebration. Wheeling the Harley-Davidson out of the shed and going for a quick ride this morning hadn’t earned him any brownie points either, but at least he and Claudia had managed to finish the last of their Christmas shopping and fit everything into the sidecar for the trip home.

  ‘Mummy’s going to like this one,’ said Claudia, wrapping a colourful scarf for Angie. It was brighter than he would have chosen, but there had been no dissuading Claudia from the multi-coloured watermelon-and-pineapple print she’d spotted in the gift shop.

  He added it to the pile underneath the table and thought about the surprises he had planned for tomorrow. Hopefully yesterday’s cricket game wouldn’t cast a pall on the occasion. Sweat trickled down his neck and he fumbled with the next present. Tomorrow couldn’t come quickly enough.

  Nineteen

  Angie could see Brett and Tessa’s home well before she turned into their driveway—Christmas lights dangled from the gutters, Santa Claus peeked out of the chimney top and a fibre-optic sleigh was mounted on the roof. Tinny carols played as she unloaded gift hampers from her hatchback and she had to walk sideways past a gigantic Christmas tree to make it into the house.

  She found Bobbi and Tessa in the lounge. Bobbi’s ivory blouse and red skirt were elegantly understated, while Tessa’s green tinsel necklace, gold-and-red dress and candy-cane earrings were as festive as her décor. Angie smoothed down her new linen dress and whistled at the mass of gifts and platters on Tessa’s coffee table.

  ‘Wow, what a feast, Tessa! I thought it was just nibbles.’

  Tessa stood, pulling Angie into a hug. ‘I know, I did a little too much baking for tomorrow. Couldn’t fit it all in the fridge. Hope you’re hungry!’

  Angie set her baskets down and popped a mini quiche into her mouth. ‘Calories don’t count at Christmas, right?’ She winked at Bobbi—this contradicted everything they’d discussed on their last run.

  ‘Let’s do presents. Here, you need some bubbles, too,’ said Tessa. Angie accepted a glass of pink champagne while Tessa slid across a plate laden with tempting cupcakes, mini cheesecakes and homemade baklava, and passed them each a gift.

  Angie unwrapped hers, discovering the prettiest framed embroidery of a tree. Little scraps of brown fabric formed the trunk and myriad green stitches were the leaves, with tiny clusters of purple beads nestled in them. She ran her fingers over the different textures, traced the upraised stitching, and marvelled at the love heart on the tree trunk, with the letters A+R stitched inside.

  ‘Like your mulberry tree. Probably better as a housewarming present but I didn’t want to save it until then.’

  ‘It’s gorgeous, Tessa! You are so crafty.’ Angie looked over to see the delicately embroidered B in Bobbi’s frame.

  ‘It’s nothing really,’ said Tessa, flushing.

  ‘Very … country cottage craft,’ said Bobbi. ‘Maybe I should be saving my little scraps of fabric instead of throwing them in the bin.’ Bobbi giggled as she sipped the champagne, then pulled two matching boxes from her leather tote. Even the packaging looked expensive. Angie opened the box. A pair of rose-gold earrings gleamed in the light.

  Tessa’s face flushed again as she pulled out an identical pair. ‘These are beautiful, Bobbi. But they must have cost a fortune. My silly little craft piece doesn’t quite measure up.’

  One look at Tessa’s red cheeks and Angie felt terrible. ‘They’re not silly craft pieces, Tessa,’ she said, ‘they’re gorgeous works of art. Mine’s going straight on the mantelpiece when we have one. And Bobbi’s naughty for breaking the twenty-dollar rule.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, I was joking, Tessa. Your stitching is gorgeously rustic. Like the type of thing Anne and Diana would have given one another in Anne of Green Gables. Or in Little House on the Prairie. You really go nuts for that craft stuff, don’t you?’

  All three of them looked around the room, from the hand-embroidered advent calendar to the bunting made from recycled doilies. Tessa quietly unwound her tinsel necklace, tossed it on the floor and pushed it underneath the sofa with her feet.

  Angie hefted the gift baskets up onto her lap, staring at the now-underwhelming collection of local produce. ‘I stuck to the budget too. Hope you like jam and chutney!’ Angie handed her gift baskets across to Tessa and Bobbi, desperate to cut through the tension.

  Bobbi shot her a surprised look. ‘I don’t see any problem. You girls are worth more to me than money and Alex is raking it in with his new clients. Think of all the times you’ve babysat for me, Angie. Yesterday. This morning. A couple of times last week. And you, Tessa …’ Bobbi paused, studying her hand-stitched gift. ‘Well … it’s … quirky.’

  Angie looked from Tessa to Bobbi, willing the awkwardness to die a quick death. Bobbi’s extravagance was like an accessory, as much a part of her as the Dior perfume she wore even when running, and the cool elegance she oozed, no matter what she was dressed for. Angie coveted Bobbi’s self-confidence even more than she envied her friend’s trim figure. She hoped the presents weren’t a deliberate dig.

  Judging by the way Tessa was shovelling handfuls of Cheezels into her mouth, it seemed Tessa had taken it that way.

  Bobbi nodded, forcing a smile onto her face. ‘There’s love woven into these crafts. I’m sure they sell like hotcakes.’

  Angie reached for the bottle of champagne and quickly topped up all three glasses, trying to skim over the moment. ‘Oh, definitely. You’ve found a niche, Tessa. Can I commission one for Penny’s new bub?’

  Tessa reached for the earrings, getting cheesy orange crumbs all over the box, and fiddled with them before snapping the lid shut. ‘Maybe,’ she said, downing her glass of champagne and attacking the tray of sweets like it was her last meal.

  Angie raised her glass. ‘I’ll drink to that. Here’s to our mums’ group. I’m proud to call you both friends. Merry Christmas!’ The bubbles rushed to Angie’s head as she sank back into the couch. How am I going to smooth this one over?

  When the magpies started their morning symphony outside the shed window the next morning, Angie flew into action, determined to retrieve the blue clam-shaped pool from its hiding place in the cottage kitchen and put it under the tree before Claudia woke.

  Her head was a little fuzzy as she slipped out of the caravan. The paddling pool had escaped her mind when she’d curled into bed last night, slightly tipsy from the champagne Tessa had kept pouring.

  S
he smiled at the twinkling fairy lights Rob had strung between his motorbike handlebars, the glittering tinsel draped around the gum sapling they’d plucked from the nearby scrub and the small collection of gifts huddled underneath.

  Opening the shed door, she discovered Christmas morning had dawned bright and clear, with a hint of sea mist softening the landscape. Spiderwebs hung from long sprigs of grass, each little strand embellished with bauble-like beads of moisture, as if the spiders had stayed up late, putting the finishing touches on their own variety of festive decorations. Angie ducked under a dinner-plate-sized cobweb hanging from the verandah’s iron lacework, and pushed the front door open.

  The living room at the front of the house was flooded with soft morning light. Next year we’ll be waking up to Christmas in here. She stood in the kitchen, picturing herself pulling croissants from the oven and baking up a storm with Claudia. The wall of glass stacker doors would give them unlimited views of the paddocks and state forest to the north. She smiled as she scooped up the paddling pool and pulled Rob’s present from behind a pile of timber.

  Rob rolled over, flinging his arm across the bed but instead of Angie, he found a warm space. Where on Earth is she at this hour of the morning? He rubbed his eyes and peered around the darkened caravan. Claudia’s curtain was still pulled tightly across her bunk bed and there was no sign of Ange on the caravan’s lounge. He smiled as he heard the shed door click closed.

  Bingo. She must be putting the slow cookers on for lunch. Hot roast-beef rolls, cold chicken, barbecued squid and salads were a far cry from the roast turkey dinner his parents normally had, but the McIntyre family were like that. More flexible, willing to change tradition. We could serve deep-fried tofu and corn chips, it wouldn’t worry my family, as long as we’re all together, Ange had said when she’d first suggested hosting everyone for Christmas lunch.

  He wondered if John and Rosa would fit in with the McIntyre clan. As if I don’t already have enough to think about today. Rob relaxed his clenched jaw and forced his shoulders down from around his ears. Clearing the air last night with Ange when she’d returned from her mums’ group Chrissy party had gone a long way to easing his nerves. The few glasses of bubbly under her belt had made her more receptive to his apology about the cricket, and paved the way for a little romance before the clock struck midnight.