Bottlebrush Creek Read online

  Rosa hugged Claudia closer as Angie’s little red car disappeared from sight.

  ‘You and I are going to have so much fun this weekend, Claud,’ she said, stroking her granddaughter’s curls. Despite many offers to babysit, and invitations for Claudia to have a sleepover at the farm, this was the first time Rosa had had her alone overnight.

  It didn’t matter that she’d had to drive 200 kilometres to their house. She would have driven to Mars if it meant more time with her only grandchild. The fuss from years ago would be water under the bridge by the time Rob and Angie moved home, she was sure of it.

  ‘Baby steps, love. Whatever makes them happy,’ she’d told John, when he’d complained about the impractical arrangements.

  ‘They’re coming down to Port Fairview. It would make sense to bring Claudia and stay in the spare room, instead of you trekking 120 miles north and them wasting money on a riverfront apartment,’ John had said, his head still buried in the newspaper. He had flicked the page over, and she knew his focus was split between the new cattle export regulations and her excited chatter.

  ‘It’s no trouble, John. Whatever makes them happy. And my little granddaughter makes me happy, so everyone’s a winner,’ she had said.

  ‘Cooking, Granny?’ said Claudia, bringing Rosa back to the present.

  She kissed her granddaughter’s forehead and lingered on the driveway. ‘We’re all done for tonight, poppet. Tomorrow, I promise. How about you eat one of those gingerbread men in the bath? Special treat, okay?’

  Claudia nodded eagerly, picking a yellow capeweed flower from the lawn. Why did Angie let all these weeds creep into the lawn? They’ll be lucky getting their bond back, Rosa tutted.

  ‘What a big daisy. Let’s put it into a vase,’ said Rosa, taking Claudia’s sticky little hand.

  Her heart swelled. It had been years since her children had needed her, truly needed her. Rob and Max were all grown up now, living their own lives, but she had known there would come a day when her nurturing skills would become indispensable again. When Rob and Angie moved to Port Fairview, she’d have more of this in her life. More purpose, more sweetness, more family. The thought made her feel good, as if the role of nurturer was nudging its way out of retirement.

  She pulled her phone from her back pocket and messaged Angie, wishing them a safe drive. The phone trilled before she’d reached the front door.

  That’s a quick reply for Angie, she thought, unlocking the phone. But Rosa’s breath caught as she saw who the reply was from.

  Max?

  Six

  Angie’s phone pinged as they drove out of town. She grabbed it, hoping the real estate agent was confirming their meeting. Her smile faltered when she saw it was from Rosa.

  ‘We’ve been gone less than ten minutes and your mum’s already sending me messages. Do you think she’s misplaced your number?’ Her dry comment was met with silence.

  Rob’s warm hand settled on hers. Just like his wild partying had stopped after he became a father, his rough hands had softened after two years of mining work.

  ‘She’s just excited. We haven’t given her much to work with over the years, have we?’

  Angie saw another yellow road sign flick past the windscreen, warning motorists to watch out for koalas, and winced at the sight of a recent victim.

  ‘More dead koalas on the roadside than kangaroos down here,’ she grimaced, averting her eyes from the roadkill as she messaged Rosa back. ‘Sticking to the highway this time, are we?’

  Rob had the good grace to look sheepish. ‘Those back roads will be crawling with roos this time of night,’ he said. ‘And yeah, no need to sneak in the back way now that you’ve met the neighbours.’

  Renovation discussions made the miles fly past and soon the ocean was in sight. The sun was waltzing with the horizon as they turned onto Enderby Lane. The bottlebrushes flanking the roadside glowed iridescent red in the golden light, and the last of Angie’s ambivalence faded as they pulled into the driveway.

  She looked at Rob. ‘Home sweet home.’

  ‘It’s going to be the making of us, Ange, I can tell.’

  He leaned across the handbrake to deliver a slow and sensual kiss that ignited a warmth deep inside her. She threaded her hands through the waves of black hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him to her.

  A horn tooted behind them. Angie broke away, breathless and blushing.

  The real estate agent stepped out of his ute. ‘All yours, folks. Power’s reconnected, as promised,’ he said, pressing a set of keys into Rob’s hand. He gave Angie a wink. ‘I’ll leave you young lovebirds to it.’

  They grabbed the first lot of boxes from the back seat of the hatchback and carried them to the old shed beside the cottage.

  Rob bowed dramatically. ‘Your boudoir awaits, madam.’

  They stepped inside.

  ‘Gah! It stinks.’ Angie covered her mouth and nose with a sleeve and patted her pocket to check her asthma puffer was there.

  Rob set his boxes down beside the makeshift sink. He opened the windows and turned the taps on. Water spluttered indignantly before the stream of brown water cleared.

  ‘An air-out will do it the world of good. And we’ll have Diana’s caravan in here soon. It’s not like we’re putting mattresses on the concrete floor.’

  Angie opened the door to the tiny bathroom. A cheap shower base, decorated with mouse poo, sat crudely on the raw concrete. A mess of white paper overflowed from the bucket beside the toilet. Mice skittered in search of an exit.

  Add mouse traps to the shopping list.

  Rob spun her around and planted a kiss on the end of her still-wrinkled nose but Angie squirmed, unable to stand the musty, mousy smell any longer. Grabbing Rob’s hand, she pulled him outside. She looped her fingers around Rob’s waist and leaned against him.

  ‘She’ll be the perfect bike shed when we’ve finished the house. We’ll whip it into shape easily enough, plonk the caravan inside and then we’ll move onto the main game,’ Rob said. They turned to both look at their cottage.

  ‘Damn right we will, Rob Jones. Just watch us.’

  Angie woke to the sounds of the rolling and crashing Southern Ocean and the river lapping against fishing boats. She rolled over, reaching for Rob, but found his side of the bed empty. She slipped into a plush ‘Riverside Retreat’ robe and wandered out onto the apartment balcony. Port Fairview’s streetlights twinkled on the river in the pre-dawn and seagulls preened their wings on the boardwalk. Rob looked up from the cane chair, his grin wolfish.

  ‘Morning. How did you sleep?’ Rob pulled a chair out for her.

  ‘Good, though I liked the bit before we got to sleep better …’ She glanced at the trail of clothes on the apartment floor.

  Rob’s gentle hand snaked under the belt of her robe.

  ‘You planning an encore? Thought I wore you out last night,’ said Angie, her smile matching his.

  He rose and pulled her up from her chair. ‘Better move inside. With my luck someone I know will spot us from across the river. But I’ve got plans for you, lovely. Long as you’re not too worn out?’

  She drew the curtains, let her bathrobe fall to the floor beside last night’s clothes and reached for Rob. If this wasn’t the best way to celebrate being new homeowners, she didn’t know what was.

  Seven

  Angie slapped the masking-tape dispenser over the side of the cardboard box, yanking the tool backwards so that the tape pulled off with a satisfying screech. She added the box to the shoulder-high wall of cardboard—their lives almost completely packed into boxes.

  Angie paused in front of the fan and pulled her sweaty singlet from her chest before stuffing random items into another box.

  Her sister Penny sat cross-legged on the kitchen floor, smiling despite hours of helping pack.

  ‘You’re a machine, Penny. Aren’t you sick of it yet?’

  Penny continued emptying the kitchen cupboards. ‘I thought the whole nesting thing was a
joke, but it’s so satisfying,’ she said. ‘Besides, you’ll never get this house packed with all those phone calls. How much time do you normally dedicate to committee admin?’

  Angie took another gulp of water and peered inside Penny’s perfectly packed box. ‘Too much. Anyway, who am I to get in the way of a pregnant lady and her nesting instincts?’

  ‘True. And it’d be a crime to let you just toss your kitchenware into boxes, like you did with your wardrobe. Go ahead and shove your mismatched clothes into suitcases and donation bins, but I’m not letting you do the same to all these baking tins and cookbooks. I can’t imagine you without a kitchen, and I’m tipping the second you get an oven and a sink in your new cottage, you’ll be itching to bake. And then you’ll be thanking your lucky stars your favourite sister packed these boxes sensibly.’

  Angie glanced down at the jumbled box in her arms. Penny knew her too well.

  ‘The reno shouldn’t take too long, really. Replacing a few weatherboards, putting a new roof on, installing a few cabinets here and there. It’ll be done in a jiffy,’ said Angie, her expression nonchalant.

  Rob’s arms burned as he took the last few steps towards the shed door, grateful to be finally lowering the potted plant to the ground. Angie stuck her head around the corner, a mop bucket in one hand and dripping mop in the other. Her smile almost made up for his twinging back as she admired the wine half-barrels he’d shifted.

  ‘The lilly pilly looks good there. Imagine how much better they’ll look flanking the cottage doorway.’

  Rob rubbed his back dramatically. ‘You’re shifting them next time,’ he laughed. ‘How’s the floor looking? Ready for varnish?’ He could almost taste the cold beer that would quench his thirst. Their temporary shed-home had come a long way in two weeks, transforming from a mouse-ridden tin shell to a liveable space. The walls were insulated and clad, there were windows, roller doors and a sliding door on the north side, and the floor looked clean enough to eat off. Only two coats of floor varnish stood between them and moving in.

  Angie looked as hot as he felt, with a sheen of perspiration on every exposed centimetre of skin. ‘Ready as it’ll ever be. Promise we’ll have a swim after we varnish? I’m roasting hot,’ she said.

  He smiled. He liked the look of her all hot and sweaty, her clothes clinging to the curves he’d fallen in love with. ‘Damn right you’re hot. Nearly giving me heatstroke, sexy lady.’ He pinched her bum as he walked past.

  She flashed him a cheeky grin before her attention shifted to the paddock behind him. Her face fell. Rob turned to see his father walking with an esky in one hand and a picnic basket in the other. His mum followed, carrying what looked to be an enormous stuffed cow. What the … ?

  Claudia launched out of her paddling pool and raced across the yard in her bathers. She flung her arms around the black- and-white toy.

  ‘Angie, Rob, look what I won in the silent auction at the Dairy Ladies’ Luncheon. Not cheap, but I knew our little girl would love it. Isn’t it adorable?’

  Rob couldn’t contain his laughter as he got a closer look at the synthetic monstrosity. ‘How about that, Claud? Your first calf.’

  Angie groaned, and whispered so only he could hear, ‘We barely have room for clothes in there, let alone a life-sized calf.’

  Rob’s smile slipped. He hadn’t even thought of that. He looked from his mum to his daughter, both equally pleased with the present. He didn’t want to be the bad guy, but he was going to upset one of his three girls no matter what he did.

  His father’s next words surprised him. ‘It can live at our place until you move in. Won’t eat much,’ said John.

  ‘Well, I guess so …’ said Rosa. She scooped the esky from John’s hand and passed it to Angie. ‘We didn’t forget you two either. This hamper should feed you for the whole weekend. Our little welcoming present.’

  ‘Thanks, Rosa, John,’ said Angie, accepting the gift.

  Rob gestured to the shed. ‘We’re all ready to move in. Want a quick squiz?’

  John put a hand on Rosa’s arm, halting her mid-step. ‘Can’t stay, nearly milking time. I’m sure you’ve done a good job of it,’ he said.

  Rob blinked. That had almost sounded like a compliment. It had been a long time since he’d received even the tiniest morsel of praise from his father.

  Is he ill? About to announce he’s dying of cancer?

  John cleared his throat. ‘That’s the easy bit though, mind you. Real test is yet to come, then we’ll see if you’ve got what it takes. And you’ll want to be checking the paddocks before too long. No use letting that grass go to ruin when you could bale it into hay,’ said John, nodding to the cottage and then the far paddock.

  Rob exhaled. And there it was. Nothing like a backhanded compliment to set the planet back on its axis.

  Rosa rushed to fill the silence that followed. ‘You and Angie make a mighty fine team, and we’re really proud already.’

  Rob wrapped an arm around Angie’s shoulder. Mum was right. They’d made a cracking start to their project and he’d make sure no one could doubt their ability by the end of this renovation.

  Eight

  The Port Fairview Fete was in full swing, and the food on the craft group’s trestle table was disappearing rapidly. Rosa plucked a stray grey hair from the plate of biscuits. Not mine, obviously, she thought. Her hair wasn’t naturally dark anymore, but regular trips to the hairdresser kept it the same shade of deep chocolate it had always been. She stood by the importance of keeping herself attractive. Not like some of the other wives, she thought, looking around the bustling Mechanics’ Institute hall. Of all the clothing stuffed into her wardrobe, there was not a single pair of tracksuit pants or item of horrid skin-hugging activewear to be found. She glanced at her watch. Only another hour manning the bake stall, and she’d be home in time to finish spring-cleaning.

  There were old toys from the depths of the rumpus room cupboards waiting to be unpacked and pushed back into service for the next generation’s entertainment. It pleased her no end to know the little clothes and toys she’d made over thirty years ago would finally be useful again. John had said she was mad, but she’d seen his eyes soften at the clothesline full of miniature woollen jumpers Rob and Max had once worn.

  Rosa hummed as she moved the cream cakes to the front. They were sitting on a block of ice, but they wouldn’t last much longer in this sudden burst of spring heat.

  ‘Earth to Rosa? I’ll have both these plates, thanks,’ said a loud voice.

  She turned to see a fellow crafter balancing baked goods on top of her overflowing basket. ‘I’ve already got three bottles of your passata and six packs of your homemade gnocchi ready for the silly season, Rosa. No such thing as being too organised, I say,’ said Eileen, handing over the correct change.

  ‘Couldn’t agree more. I’ve been thinking about Christmas myself, much to John’s amusement. Our men don’t realise quite how much pre-planning is needed for a successful festive season, do they?’ She hadn’t meant for John to find the stockpile of little presents she’d started acquiring, ready for wrapping and stashing under the Christmas tree.

  ‘It’s only October,’ he’d said this morning. ‘Why on Earth are you thinking about Christmas? And just because Rob’s home, doesn’t mean we’ll be getting one of those pine trees again. Darn pine needles take over the house. Stick with the old fake tree, like the last fifteen years.’ But she knew he’d come around. It had been years since she’d bothered with a real Christmas tree, and the prospect of having family home this year made her want to pull out all the stops.

  Rosa pursed her lips, trying to contain her happiness. Eileen wasn’t going to sniff out this secret; she needed a poker face.

  ‘Too right, Rosa. Oh, and add a couple of your knitted beanies for stocking stuffers. You know you pretty much run this fete, don’t you?’

  ‘It’s the least I can do,’ said Rosa. Up until now, providing craft, produce and preserves for the twice-yearly P
ort Fairview Fete had been the best panacea for her loneliness.

  Mightn’t have as much time for craft fetes and baking stalls next year. The thought made her smile.

  ‘Rosa? You look like you’re miles away again. Dreaming about holidays?’

  ‘Gosh, Eileen, not this year. We’ve got far too much to do with Rob moving home. And, of course, I couldn’t bear to leave little Claudia for a month. Not now she’s next door,’ said Rosa, fanning her face again.

  ‘You think you’re hot now? Your son and his wife will be sweltering this summer in a caravan inside a shed. Wouldn’t catch me living in a shed or a van. Or in a van inside a shed, for that matter. Ivan’s old cottage needs so much work. They’re mad, if you ask me.’

  I didn’t.

  ‘They’re young. They’ll cope,’ Rosa said, straightening the yo-yo biscuits. She didn’t bother to correct Eileen about Rob and Angie’s marital status either. Why Rob hadn’t made an honest woman out of Angie was beyond Rosa, but after the baby formula debacle, and then the christening conflict, she’d agreed not to offer her opinions on such matters.

  ‘Well, I suppose if they can survive a renovation and summer in a tin shed, they can survive anything. What about your Max? Is he coming home too? They used to be tighter than two coats of paint, those twins. Such a shame they fell out.’

  The ache in Rosa’s heart was now almost as sharp as that in her back. She would love nothing more than for her boys to reconcile.

  Some people in Port Fairview thought the rift between the brothers had come out of nowhere, but, if she were honest with herself, Rosa knew it had been brewing for years. One moment she had been dressing them in matching outfits, the next moment they were young adults with shared dreams and ambitions, and then it had all been wiped out by a bad decision. If only Max had been honest with Rob, if only John had stepped in before it was too late, things might have been different.