Bottlebrush Creek Page 18

  Rob hung his head. Less than a week ago, he’d felt like the luckiest guy in south-west Victoria. And now, if he wasn’t careful, their relationship could slip between his fingers. If Max had taught him anything, it was the fragility of trust, and how swiftly ties could be severed.

  ‘I’m sorry, Ange, you’ve gotta believe me.’

  ‘You made me look like a fool, Rob, in front of all our friends. And the cottage …’ She set her mug down. Liquid slopped everywhere. Normally she would reach for a cloth and wipe it before it left a ring, but the distraught woman in front of him barely noticed. It wrenched his heart to see her aching. She threw a scathing look out the window above the sink, towards the cottage.

  ‘You don’t even seem interested in our new home now. It’s like you don’t even care …’

  He wanted to wrap his arms around her and smooth everything over, but the way she’d ripped her hand away earlier made her feelings perfectly clear. He’d have to try to talk it out. Or wait it out.

  Angie shoved her feet into sandals. She needed to get out of the shed before the final tendrils of her self-control gave way. Rob reached out to her, anguish written across his face, but she shook his hand off with an icy flick of her shoulder.

  The security light flickered on outside, highlighting sheets of heavy rain. She stalked across the lawn. How could things go so pear-shaped in such a short time? Rain streamed down her face as she sheltered under the cottage verandah.

  A popping and crackling rang out and she looked up to see a burst of colour lighting up the night sky. Fireworks. She took a deep breath, pushing away memories of last New Year’s Eve, when they’d driven to the coastal town of Beachport. The three of them had huddled on the grassy foreshore watching with delight as the fireworks were launched from what was apparently the second-longest jetty in South Australia. She and Rob had made a pledge there and then to make it a better year for their little family.

  The verandah creaked and groaned as the wind picked up. Another firework burst, fizzing with a trail of glittering light. Happy Damn New Year.

  Twenty-five

  Angie whisked the milk powder furiously, setting the bucket to one side and grabbing another. She wasn’t sure who she was angrier with: Rob for not backing her up; Claudia for fussing all night with hourly wake-ups; Rosa, for setting her on this path; or herself for getting so worked up about things she had so little control over. It’d be easier to herd cats than rein in Rosa’s ‘enthusiasm’, she couldn’t fast-track the renovations or rid the property of every dangerous animal, and she sure as hell couldn’t force Rob to talk about his twin if he didn’t want to.

  Angie weighed the milk powder into the final bucket before adding warm water. She could already imagine her sisters’ reactions. We tried to warn you about moving in next door to your mother-in-law, Angie. She whisked the milk vigorously.

  She’d replayed the events of last night’s party again and again as she tossed and turned, but it wasn’t much clearer in the light of day.

  Maybe I’m making a fuss about nothing.

  It took two trips to lug the buckets down to the paddock. Snails crackled underfoot with a satisfying crunch as she trekked back and forth. It was harder without Rob by her side, she acknowledged grumpily. The calves stood at the fence, their glossy black noses pushing against the metal gate. A loud crack rang out through the calm morning. The calves jerked away from the gate, the whites of their eyes rolling towards the scrub. Angie looked around as another crack split the air. The bright blue sky, devoid of clouds, offered no answers. Probably kids getting rid of their contraband fireworks before they roll up their swags, swallow their hangovers and head back home.

  The calves were skittish as they drank, startling when she reached down and rubbed their silky cheeks, one by one. Her father’s words rang in her ears, the same words he’d delivered whenever she’d confided in him during high school, complaining about one sister or another. There’s naught funnier than folk.

  No, it wasn’t that Rosa bit Claudia, or the fact that, maddeningly, her archaic technique seemed to have worked. It was Rob’s brushing things aside, the way he’d laughed along with Alex last night instead of defending her, the same way as he’d brushed off her worries about the wild pigs as if her opinion hadn’t mattered … That was the hardest pill to swallow.

  The sound of air being sucked through the feeding teats interrupted her train of thought. She wrestled the plastic milk trough from the gate before the calves gave themselves a bellyache. Get over it, Angie. There’s too much at stake to dwell on this now, she told herself.

  Rob opened his eyes, then squeezed them shut again as the light prompted a pounding headache. Last night’s unresolved argument felt no better after a broken sleep.

  His phone beeped, a message from the cricket club about next week’s match. He declined to play before he did something else stupid.

  Coffee. I need coffee, and Panadol, before I can set this right.

  Rob heaped two spoonfuls of Nescafé into his mug, following with two spoonfuls of sugar, and then milk almost halfway up the mug. It was a far cry from his usual white with one, but today he needed extra everything. He stalked around the shed, unwinding the Christmas lights from the motorbike handlebars, decommissioned for another eleven months. He paused, running a finger through the dust on the Harley–Davidson’s tank. That was what he needed. Another ride to clear his head.

  The kettle boiled and he made two strong coffees, wondering if Angie had calmed down yet. Knowing he’d been an idiot wasn’t going to make the task of fixing it any easier. He heard a car door slam and tugged a pair of jeans on, groaning as he stepped outside and recognised their early-morning visitor.

  Mrs Ellis looked just as scary standing in their driveway as she had in the schoolyard. Same crossed arms, same tatty cardigan, same just-sucked-on-a-lemon face.

  Angie had jumped down his throat about not fronting Rosa. Maybe he should step in here?

  I’ll tell her Ange’s got enough on her plate already, he decided.

  ‘Mrs Ellis,’ he said, feeling her beady eyes upon him.

  ‘Robert.’ She gave a brief nod, and then addressed Angie, who had walked across from the calf paddock. ‘Apologies for the belated Christmas gift, Angela, but better late than never.’

  Rob raised his eyebrows in a discreet ‘Do you want me to get rid of her?’ look. Angie shook her head and went to help her unload.

  Mrs Ellis opened the door of her car and he saw it was crammed with plants. He didn’t know much about dahlias, but those big green leaves looked thirsty and time-consuming. God, just what we need.

  ‘Can you help me shift them over by the house, Rob? I’ll get them in the ground after I’ve helped Mrs Ellis sort out a problem with these meeting minutes,’ Angie said.

  Rob realised she was now clasping the dreaded dahlia society notebook. It’s a bribe, not a present. ‘Do you even have time for all these flowers? You’re falling into bed dead tired every night as it is.’

  Mrs Ellis bristled as she stepped forwards and jabbed a finger into Rob’s chest. ‘Let the woman make up her own mind. She doesn’t need a man telling her what to do.’

  Rob almost laughed. Tell her, Ange, tell her it’s not like that. But Angie only shrugged.

  Angie flicked through her Instagram feed, hammering out the occasional Like with gritted teeth. She knew social media wasn’t real life, but it felt like everyone else was having a picture-perfect holiday.

  ‘I was only trying to help, Ange. I thought you were sick to death of the dahlia society,’ said Rob, looking up from the motorbike he and Claudia were polishing.

  Angie let out a measured breath and kept her eyes on the phone.

  ‘And I know you’re worried about those pigs, but do you really think they’re going to come within cooee of here? Wild animals run in the opposite direction when they see someone. In hunting, you rarely get more than one chance—as soon as the first shot’s off, they scatter.’

 
; Angie drew herself up taller. ‘Don’t patronise me. I know what I heard. And Tessa said wild pigs had taken a few lambs at the Poll Dorset stud. Next thing we know they’ll be bringing down calves and small children.’ She shoved her phone into her pocket, all thoughts of apologising to Rob fading at the sight of his doubtful expression. She knew she’d veered towards the dramatic, but she didn’t feel like being patronised. Not today.

  ‘If there really was a feral pig problem, hunters would be crawling all over our paddocks. And then there’d be a police investigation. Honestly! Don’t get all worked up about it. It’s a beat-up by the local newspaper to sell a few more copies. They need all the front-page dramas they can get.’

  ‘This is a becoming a habit, isn’t it? What else am I getting worked up about, Rob? Any deadly reptiles I shouldn’t bother about? Any other opinions you’re keeping from me?’ The volume of Angie’s voice had risen with each sentence until she was shouting.

  The hurt from yesterday had returned with a vengeance.

  Settle down, Angie. No need to go full psycho on him.

  She wanted to nestle into his embrace and at the same time she wanted to storm out on him. She stood as stiff as a board as he wrapped his arms around her. He smelled like sleep, he felt like warmth and safety, but she couldn’t bring herself to soften.

  ‘I said I’m sorry about Mum, and I wish the restumping guy hadn’t got you so worked up about these pigs, but that’s not the important thing. The important thing is that I love you and Claudia more than anything else. Look at those weatherboards through the window and imagine them all painted pale blue. Imagine us sitting in that kitchen, eating dinner as a family.’

  ‘Duck-egg blue,’ she corrected, the need to be accurate neatly dovetailing with her need to be contrary. He took her hand and pointed it towards the cottage again.

  ‘Duck-egg blue, then. And Claudia is still going to love the swing set out the front and play with her dolls, hopefully with a little brother or sister by her side. Or maybe both.’ Angie felt his thumb rubbing over her knuckles as he talked, feeling the furrows in her brow lessen with each sentence. ‘And you and I are going to make it happen. Because we’re a good team, Ange McIntyre-soon-to-be-Jones.’

  She let him tip her head back and plant a kiss on the tip of her nose.

  ‘I want to finish our cottage, and plan our wedding, not argue over ridiculous incidents.’

  Angie’s eyes bolted open. She swore as she pushed him away.

  ‘It’s not ridiculous, Rob. That’s the whole point! And if you can’t understand why I’m upset, we’ve got bigger problems than I first thought.’

  Twenty-six

  Although she was still livid with Rob, Angie couldn’t help pondering Rosa’s entreaty to help smooth things over between the twins during the next few weeks. The last thing she wanted was to be piggy in the middle, or complicit in Rosa’s manipulations, but maybe it made sense. They all had to live together somehow, and the distance between the Jones men was palpable every time they were in a room together—nothing like the close-knit bond she shared with Diana, Lara and Penny.

  She wheeled a barrow load of gardening supplies across the lawn. The soil was loose and light under her trowel, the combination of a sandy loam and the New Year’s rains making for easy digging.

  ‘Next one, Claudia. The yellow punnet,’ she called.

  Claudia dipped her hands into the wheelbarrow, proudly pulling out a punnet full of petunias.

  Angie planted them next to the cluster of annuals, then stood and stretched, admiring her handiwork. The garden beds were brimming with vegetable and flower seedlings. Neat rows of straw mulch nestled around each plant.

  ‘There, Claud, two more garden beds finished,’ she said, swiping the sweat on her forehead and taking the last sip of water from her drink bottle. Violet sniffed at the freshly turned earth, testing it with a paw.

  ‘Don’t you dare,’ said Angie, nudging the pup away with her boot.

  She turned at the sound of tyres crunching along the driveway.

  ‘Daddy home, Daddy home!’ Claudia called, racing to meet the white ute as it pulled up alongside the shed. Angie watched Rob unfold himself from the vehicle. She stood slowly, each muscle in her back and arms reminding her she had indeed spent the whole afternoon digging, levelling and planting out the new garden beds.

  Grass tickled her ankles as she walked stiffly across the lawn. Better add mowing to the to-do list.

  ‘Rob,’ she said, leaning on the shovel. As much as she’d tried to get over the New Year’s Eve argument, she hadn’t been able to dismantle the icy barricade she’d erected two weeks ago. Each conversation was somehow tainted by a stiffness she hadn’t felt before—the feeling she was treading on eggshells, or venturing into a trap of her own making. Gone were the warm hugs and kisses when he arrived home from work, and in their place was an awkwardness she didn’t know how to overcome.

  ‘Ange,’ he said, lifting Claudia onto his shoulders. ‘What have you two been up to today? Get all those weatherboards sorted?’

  Angie glanced over at the side of the cottage she’d been meaning to paint. She looked back at the neat garden beds she’d dedicated her afternoon to instead. Rob followed her gaze, his eyes creasing in confusion. ‘I thought we weren’t starting any more gardens yet. We need the weatherboards finished more than we need flowers,’ he said.

  Angie knew he wasn’t the type to coo over gardens, but she’d at least expected some type of recognition for her day’s work. ‘I’ve been painting weatherboards all week, Rob. And we could use a bit of colour around here, seeing the birthday pony ate all the roses. So Claudia and I grabbed a few things at the garden centre.’

  ‘Don’t like flowers, Daddy?’ asked Claudia, her solemn face craning down as she wriggled on his shoulders to meet his eye.

  Rob kicked at the dirt with his boots. ‘I don’t dislike flowers, but we needed to wait. No use planting a bunch of flowers if they’re in the way of the new septic system or wood shed.’

  ‘Did you have a crappy day at work or something?’ As soon as the words came out of her mouth, she knew what could have been an olive branch had sounded too sharp, too snappy. Good one, Angie, way to broker peace.

  Rob’s face hardened, his eyes narrowing slightly. ‘Nothing’s wrong with work. Scored a new client today and finished the butler’s pantry in the kitchen reno. Thought we could head out for tea at the pub, but …’ He shrugged, his jaw tightening. ‘Reckon I’ll head out for a ride instead.’

  Angie’s shoulders dropped as he walked away. Ask him about the kitchen he’s working on, quiz him about the new client. Apologise. But instead she watched him walk away, his back as stiff as hers felt. A stab of indignation ripped through her. It’s my house too. What about where I want things?

  ‘Hey, what about the verandah? Weren’t we going to pull it down tonight?’

  Rob paused, glancing back over his shoulder. ‘I’ll do it tomorrow,’ he called, wrenching the shed door open.

  The mood was still frosty the next day. Angie carried a bowl of chips and a jug of water into the cottage, hoping it might smooth the way.

  Brett was crouched on the cement floor in the shell of their ensuite, the back of his jeans halfway down his backside as usual, as he threaded water pipes through the bare wall frames. She could hear Rob working on the opposite side of the house.

  ‘Got it sorted, Brett? The tiler called to say he’s right to start waterproofing, if we’re ready?’ said Angie.

  He nodded, tossing a smile over his shoulder. ‘All good, Angie. If you hadn’t switched out the double sinks for a single, then we might have been a bit behind, but as it is we’re set. Who wants to clean an extra sink anyway, right?’

  ‘What? Wait, you’re mixed up.’ She pointed to the plans pinned to the hallway frames. ‘See here. Double sink for the ensuite.’ She tapped the laminated plans.

  Brett stood, pulling his jeans up as he straightened. ‘Rob canned the double sink last
week. Said you were trying to cut costs.’ His voice was apologetic. ‘And it’s a bit late now, we’ve got it almost all plumbed and the pipes are all covered.’

  Angie inhaled sharply. Not once had Rob flagged a problem with the sinks.

  She strode along the hallway and into the kitchen, careful not to brush up against the pink insulation batts stuffed into the skeletal wall cavities. Claudia, Jayden and Oscar looked up from the pile of nail boxes they were stacking.

  ‘Mummy.’ Claudia loped towards her.

  Rob pushed the safety goggles to the top of his head. ‘Hey Ange.’ He took a handful of chips. ‘Did you bring any of Mum’s cake for smoko?’

  Angie quickly brushed crumbs from her shirt. The cake had somehow disappeared between her third and fourth coffee of the morning. ‘When did you decide to ditch the twin sinks? Least you could have done was consult me. Brett must think I’m an idiot.’

  ‘I know you wanted the sinks, but we need to save time and money. I’m trying to claw back the timeline. We’ve waited ages for that tiler. Last thing we want to do is jump to the back of the queue because our plumbing wasn’t shored up.’

  First the glass stacker doors in the kitchen had been axed, now the ensuite sinks.

  ‘The timelines wouldn’t have been so tight if you hadn’t been building chicken coops, riding motorbikes and playing cricket.’

  Rob fiddled with the tape measure in his hand. Angie tried to remember what the plumbing shop assistant had said about returns and refunds. ‘Will the plumbing store even take those twin sinks back?’

  ‘Throw me a bone. It’s not easy trying to project manage this place while working full time.’