Bottlebrush Creek Page 20

  Angie spun on her heel to face him again. There wasn’t room on this building site for someone else intent on undermining her.

  ‘I’m an equal partner on this build. If you’ve got a problem with that, tell me now.’

  Twenty-eight

  Rob strode out of the cottage and headed to the hay shed. A day in the paddock was already looking a lot more appealing than a day of laying floorboards with Angie. She’d been shirty for the last few weeks, bitten his head off about the panel-lifter, and now she was grumpy about the tiler. The bloke had barely been there a minute before she’d decided he was a chauvinist pig.

  Though, he conceded as he reversed the old Fergie tractor out of the hay shed, it was kind of a relief to see her anger focused on someone other than him.

  He looked at the paddocks north of the dairy. Max had commandeered the new tractor to get their father’s paddocks ready for seeding. The new tractor would be quicker and more comfortable, but Rob sure as hell wasn’t going to march next door and ask to borrow it. He’d given the place a wide berth since Christmas, and Max had only dropped around that one time.

  The old Fergie’s lumbering pace provided time for reflection as Rob cultivated the rich volcanic soil. He remembered being so eager to help as a youngster, fighting with Max for a turn on the dicky seat inside the tractor cab. He couldn’t remember a single conversation, but there had been the hum of the machine, endless overs of cricket on the tractor stereo during harvest, the important job of scanning the flat horizon for hazards as John reaped the land. When had it come to an end?

  He knew the cracks in his and Max’s relationship had started to show well before their savings had been gambled away.

  Rob stared at the dairy as he looped his way around the paddock. Did Dad ever wake up and wish he’d done things differently? Rob had vowed not to make the same mistakes when he’d discovered Angie was pregnant; he heaped praise on Claudia every time she achieved the slightest thing. She’d shot up an inch over the summer, and all of a sudden she was a little girl, not a baby or a toddler. What if he woke up one morning and she was sixteen years old, full of hormones and with no time for her old man? What if he failed to build a connection, buried himself so deep in his work and his own interests that she wanted nothing to do with him?

  Everything will go back to normal when we finish the reno. Then we’ll have more time as a family.

  The money would sort itself out, as soon as the cheques started coming in and the cottage stopped sucking their money like quicksand. And a few high-yielding crops would pay dividends next summer.

  I’ll look at the accounts tonight, see what I can do to fix things. There was more than just pride on the line, and the drive to prove himself: he had Claudia and Ange counting on him. He couldn’t stuff this up.

  Angie’s opinion of the tiler took a nosedive over the following days. ‘It’s like he missed the memo on women’s rights,’ she said, bracing the plaster sheet against the wall stud. The toe of her boot carried most of the weight. Rob stepped away to eye up the join.

  ‘Little my way, Ange. Up a bit. Yep, that’s it.’ Rob pushed the plaster up against the frame, and screwed it in place. ‘Don’t let the tiler worry you. He’s an old bloke, probably not used to working on building sites with women.’

  Angie grabbed the edge of the next plaster sheet and helped Rob move it into the master bedroom. Music from the tiler’s portable radio bounced off the hallway’s fresh plaster. Normally, Angie tolerated the range of music the tradesmen brought to the house, but there was something about the old Broadway tunes, and the way the tiler whistled tunelessly to them, that set Angie’s teeth on edge.

  ‘It’s enough to put you off musicals for life,’ she groaned, rolling her eyes. ‘I’ve got nothing against Hello, Dolly! or Singing in the Rain but honestly …’

  ‘Don’t suppose it’s got more to do with the man than the music?’

  ‘He’s gone out of his way to avoid me since he arrived. He’s a right Chatty Cathy when you’re around, but when I ask him something, he grunts. And it would’ve been nice if you’d backed me up when I asked him about the edges and corners. I nearly socked him one when he told me not to fuss about it. Condescending old prat. Back me up next time, all right?’

  ‘I’m sure it’s nothing personal, Ange. He’ll be out of our hair in a week. How ’bout I deal with him?’ Rob turned his attention back to the plasterboard.

  ‘No. That’s giving him what he wants. It’s the principle. My money is paying for these renovations as much as yours. He should treat us both the same.’

  Rob fixed the plaster in place, sat down the screwdriver and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. ‘You okay?’

  ‘Fine.’ She wriggled out from under his sticky embrace, awkward at the contact after such a hiatus. There was enough sweat and plaster dust on her skin already, anyway. ‘I don’t like being talked down to, or excluded from discussions about our home. And the budget thing is bugging me. I know you want to take care of it, but whatever you think you’re protecting me from, it’s not working.’

  Rob fumbled with the tape measure. ‘You’ve got enough on your plate, Ange. I said I’d handle it.’

  Angie cocked her head to one side. Pick your battles, Angie. If he says he’s got it covered, trust him. This whole project is about bringing us together as a family, not pushing us apart.

  But she couldn’t resist coming at it from a different tack. ‘Are you worried I’m going to lose all our money, like Max? I have managed a business, remember?’

  ‘Let me handle it.’ He swiped his glistening brow. ‘Please.’

  ‘But if we’re getting close to our limit, and your customers aren’t paying their invoices, it becomes our problem. Say the word, and I’ll go back to work. I’m sure that riverfront day spa will have me, or I could pick up a few shifts at the pub if we’re desperate. Promise me you’ll act on it if any clients haven’t paid by the invoice due date, Rob. We’re finally smashing through the renos. I don’t want to lose momentum now.’

  ‘We won’t. This year was supposed to be a change: you finally at home with Claud, me finally working as my own boss. Hang in there, Ange, we’ll make it work.’

  Rob turned away and she swallowed the words on her lips. I don’t want to lose you, Rob Jones. I don’t want to lose us! She knew, deep down, that the longer the build dragged on, the deeper the cracks would run.

  Twenty-nine

  Angie felt an air of freedom as she drove towards the Grampians. On Tessa’s advice, she was treating the baby shower as a mini-holiday. No babysitting, no kid wrangling, no plastering, no housework, no time to worry about Rob or Rosa. Not a minute too soon, she thought. The two-hour drive had been a breeze and before she knew it Angie was pulling into McIntyre Park. She wound down the car window and let the smell of home flood her senses.

  Guests had come from all corners of Victoria to celebrate the occasion. The McIntyre farmhouse dining table, which had hosted hundreds of Sunday roasts and birthday parties, was today set up for Penny’s baby shower. Little pink and blue cupcakes competed for space in a sea of presents, with a massive pink-and-blue balloon centrepiece from Penny’s best friend Jade swaying every time someone opened the porch door. After weeks on the tools, it was nice to clear empty teacups and fill trays with chocolate slice and yo-yo biscuits instead.

  Diana nudged the balloons out of the way as she restocked a platter with scones and homemade strawberry jam.

  ‘Everyone will be rolling out of here if they keep eating at this rate,’ said Lara, replenishing the cheese platter. She shot a pointed look at Diana. ‘Lucky you’ve baked enough for an army.’

  ‘Somebody’s got to feed the masses,’ said Diana, tucking an auburn curl behind her ears. ‘With Angie’s lack of an oven, your truck-driving course and Penny’s swollen ankles, I’m plan A, B and C. And I love it!’ she said with a smile.

  Lara nodded to the cluster of children crowded around the trampoline in the backyard. ‘I think t
he kids polished off more than the adults, though. Claud would have loved it. And I’ve lost count of the ladies who asked where your pavlovas and cakes were, Angie.’

  Angie looked up from the fruit platter she had made. No matter how carefully she’d peeled mango and scooped out balls of melon, fruit didn’t convey the same language of love as pineapple sponge, Peppermint Crisp–embellished pavlova or tangy lemon meringue pie.

  ‘It felt weird walking into the party without an armful of cake tins and platters. But there’s more than enough food here. Here’s hoping we’re moved into the new house by the time the next baby shower rolls around.’

  Diana raised an eyebrow. ‘You don’t sound too sure.’

  Angie shrugged as she straightened the pink and blue plates. ‘It’s going okay but it’d be nice to move in ahead of schedule. Claudia’s basically nocturnal again, and Rob’s distracted with work, getting the paddocks ready for sowing crops next week. And now there’s Max. Since he showed up, Rob’s been spending even less time on the build. Says it’s because he wants to finish the kitchen upgrade he started before Christmas, but I know he’s avoiding his brother. I feel like I’m the only one working on the cottage.’

  ‘I’d tell Rob to build a bridge and get over it,’ Lara said, slicing another piece of cake.

  Angie’s mouth watered. Don’t even think about it. You’ve already slipped up too many times with Rosa’s baking. Angie scooped up another platter and quickly shoved her sandals on to get away from temptation.

  ‘Tried that. Didn’t go down well. As much as I hate to say it, Rosa might be right about helping Rob and Max patch things up,’ said Angie on her way out.

  ‘What?’ Diana spluttered as she followed her onto the back deck, where Penny’s friends and neighbours were playing baby-shower games. The lush lawn and late flush of roses had proved the perfect setting for the celebration. Sounds of grazing sheep provided a backdrop to the chatter of guests and the squeaky trampoline, with enough cloud cover to keep them from being roasted by the late afternoon sun.

  Angie heard Lara’s voice over her shoulder as she fell in step and they began to circulate the yard with platters.

  ‘You sure you want to be aiding and abetting a repeat offender? After all you’ve told us about Rosa interfering, do you really want to join forces?’

  ‘I know, but the friction between John, Rob and Max is quickly becoming my problem too. Especially if Max really does stick around. What if they just need a gentle push in the right direction? They are twins, after all,’ said Angie.

  Lara sighed. They moved through the generous crowd together, greeting neighbours, octogenarians from the local yoga club, farm wives, old high-school friends and local women who had frequented Angie’s Eden Creek beauty salon.

  ‘I’m like the meat in the sandwich,’ Angie said when they next had some privacy. ‘Rob’s never going to finish the cottage if he’s avoiding the place because of Max.’

  ‘Sounds toxic. It’ll eat him up like cancer, if that’s the case,’ said Lara, heading towards the kitchen to restock her tray.

  Angie set down a platter and then ducked behind the table to collect a few wayward napkins. Penny wouldn’t want rubbish floating across her paddocks.

  Angie started straightening up when a hushed voice caught her attention. Something in the lady’s gossipy tone made Angie stay put. She tried to identify the voice from the shoes. The leopard-print heels and pink jewel-studded sandals could have been anyone’s, and she cursed herself for focusing on champagne top-ups and platters refills instead of footwear.

  ‘Did you hear about Angie McIntyre? She’s renovating some cottage by the coast.’

  Angie’s smile disappeared as a titter of laughter floated up. She recognised that voice. It was one of Penny’s high-school chums, who’d greeted her with gushy air kisses.

  ‘Sounds like a recipe for disaster. Isn’t she the one who got pregnant after a one-night stand?’

  ‘Lara’s the type of girl who could rock a sledge hammer, but I can’t see Angie sinking her teeth into something like that. Not terribly bright, that one. Not like her sisters.’

  ‘No staying power either, judging by her figure. Remember how she was always Chunky Monkey at school?’

  Angie’s face burned.

  Get up and wave your calluses in their faces. Ask them how many weatherboards they’ve stripped, sanded and repainted recently. Ask if they’ve been sweating their butts off running and renovating. Bobbi would tell them where to stick it. How dare they? But just like she’d always done, Angie shied away from the conflict, hovering behind the table, praying for the ground to swallow her up.

  She hurried to the kitchen as soon as their voices trailed away. If Diana and Lara noticed her sudden interest in the dishes, they didn’t mention it. The containers of extra sweets took a major hit as she cleaned the farmhouse kitchen.

  Angie stewed over the comments on the drive home, each dissected sentence taking her pride down a notch. Shame had turned to anger by the time she pulled into the driveway that night.

  The sight of Rob and Claudia snuggled into the bunk, reading a book, and the sound of Rob reading the character voices out loud failed to lift her spirits.

  Using the last of her energy, Angie kissed Claudia goodnight before flopping back onto the bed, fully clothed.

  ‘You’ve barely said a word since you got in, Ange. Those 5 a.m. workouts are hitting you hard, aren’t they? And the baby shower. You probably didn’t think you’d be heading to bed at the same time as your three-year-old on a Saturday night, hey?’ Rob’s voice was playful as he sat beside her. ‘Come to the cottage for a cuppa? I’ll show you what I’ve been working on today.’

  Angie climbed under the sheets and tugged the quilt up to her chin. ‘No, thanks.’ She’d felt like throwing in the towel more than once, but the gossip she’d overheard today had cut to the core. What if we don’t finish it? What if everyone is expecting me to mess up, or pull out halfway through?

  Rob tucked the blankets around her, like he did with Claudia. ‘Righto. Night, night.’

  He closed the caravan door, pitching the room into complete darkness, before Angie’s phone lit up with a message. She squinted against the glaring light.

  Hey Angie, bet baby shower was a hit. Hope you wore your new floral dress—you’ve earned it. Still good for babysitting tmoz while I get my nails done? You’re so awesome! Xxx Bobbi

  Angie squeezed her eyes shut, wondering exactly when she’d become Bobbi’s number one free babysitter.

  Thirty

  Despite hectic days at work, the effort of getting the paddocks ready for sowing and the tension at home, Rob found himself falling asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. His internal alarm clock roused him before six each morning, giving him a chance to check water troughs and run an eye over the property. The crops should be good, he thought, striding across to the orchard and tipping an inch of water out of the rain gauge. If the autumn break kept up, little shoots of wheat would be poking their heads out of the soil in the next week or so. And if the agronomist at Elders was as good as his word, the higher-quality seed would give them a good return on their investment, aiding their anaemic-looking bank account.

  He let Violet off the chain and ruffled her fur.

  ‘Get the ducks, girl,’ he said, flicking a hand towards the pond. Violet rushed past the chook house, cleared the fence without breaking stride and launched herself into the water. The ducks scattered as she swam towards them, settling on the opposite side, then flying back when she closed in on them again. Rob watched, pleased he’d finally found a way to wear her out. She hadn’t dug as many holes or torn half as many towels off the clothesline since he’d taught her to jump the pond fence.

  Rob whistled sharply and Violet ran back to him, shaking pond water all over his jeans. He stroked her velvety ears and brushed a grass seed from her coat. The kelpie sat patiently beside the old chimney as he unlatched the chook-yard gate. Five warm eggs waited for him
inside the chimney, and he pouched them in his shirt, scattered grains for the hens and dropped the eggs back to the shed as he planned the day’s work. A few more big days and he should almost be finished on the Rosebrook client’s carport.

  Angie’s hatchback pulled into view as he tugged on a fresh pair of jeans. Her ponytail was a snarl of curls, and sweat dripped down her running singlet, but still the sight of her made him smile.

  ‘I’m off. Have a good day,’ he said, leaning in through the driver’s side window to kiss her cheek.

  ‘Yep, you too. Remember to call Mr Kent about his invoice. It’s been a month since you sent it out. And can you please grab bananas and toilet paper if you’re driving past the supermarket on the way home?’

  Rob exhaled quietly, trying to identify exactly when romance had nose-dived to the bottom of their agenda.

  The tiler’s van was parked in the driveway by the time Angie had finished breakfast and walked to the cottage. She grimaced at the tradesman’s grating whistle and stuck her head around the corner of the ensuite. Despite the open window, her nose prickled at the strong ammonia-like scent of the waterproofing membrane. The tiler had covered every inch of the floor and shower enclosure with a thick blue paste.

  ‘The rest of the tiles arrived too, so you’ll be right to start tiling next week.’ She said it as a statement, rather than a question, but her assertive posture was lost as she broke into a coughing fit.

  The tiler took his time to look up at her. When he finally did, Angie gaped at the sight of a cigarette tucked into the corner of his mouth. How dare he smoke in our home?

  ‘I thought I made it clear this was a no-smoking building site?’ She coughed again, then sneezed. Her eyes watered as she glared at the tiler. The window hadn’t been open to air the house out and make it easier for her to breathe, as Rob had suggested. The tiler had opened it to cover his sneaky cigarette, a direct contradiction of the site rules.