Bottlebrush Creek Page 5

  But she had a plan to make it right. Even though she wanted to shout her news across the crowded hall, Rosa held her tongue as Eileen waddled off to the next stall.

  Angie lifted the final cardboard box from the trailer and carried it into the corner of John and Rosa’s hay shed, trying not to think about the fresh mouse droppings on the boxes they’d stacked there yesterday.

  ‘You sure this stuff is going to be okay in here while we renovate, Rob?’ She wrinkled her nose, wiping her damp hands on her shorts.

  ‘Not many options, Ange. They won’t fit in the caravan, I’m not keen on triple-handling them by shifting them from room to room as we renovate each part of the cottage, and it’s not like we can leave my motorbikes out here. They’re way too valuable to leave in this old hay shed,’ said Rob, unloading his armful of boxes. ‘Anyway, it’s only for a few months. Nothing’s going to eat’—Rob paused and read the black writing on the side of the box—‘springform tins, mini-muffin tins, recipe books or the last five years of baking magazines, right?’

  Angie cocked an eyebrow. ‘Sometimes I think those bikes mean more to you than I do,’ she teased, stretching her arms above her head. ‘And to think your new work ute will be outside in the salty sea air just so your old bikes can be locked up safe.’

  Rob closed the distance between them with a long stride and cupped her chin. ‘You, my girl, are worth more to me than anything. Now, let’s get cracking before Brett drops around to replace the hot-water service,’ he said, landing a kiss on her lips.

  She gave a mock salute. ‘Yes, sir!’

  Rob held down the top strand of wire as she climbed back onto their side of the fence. They stood for a moment at the boundary. Blue skies and harsh sunlight highlighted the thin patches on the cottage’s rusty red roof and cast the southern side of the house in full shadow.

  ‘What about gardens, Rob? I can see a full bed of colour on the east side, near the old rose bushes, and veggie gardens in front of the shed.’

  Rob snorted. ‘Gardens? Those rotten weatherboards and rusty roof are the only things I’m thinking about now. Don’t you have enough greenery with all those pot plants? Plus, the trenching and stuff will rip up the lawn. Hold off till the renos are over.’

  Angie shrugged, sweeping her hair off her damp neck. ‘Maybe just a few bits and pieces to make the property feel like home. We’ve missed the boat this year, but when winter comes, I’ll prune all those fruit trees and plant some new ones. And obviously we’ll get rid of that death trap.’ She nodded to the freestanding brick chimney, the last remnant of the original soldier settlement house. The faded red brickwork and chunky bluestone lintel hovering above the fireplace cavity had probably been built the same time as the chimney inside their cottage. To its credit, the long, skinny structure had barely weathered, despite losing the surrounding walls and roof years ago.

  ‘You can’t be serious? It’s a relic! Thought we’d make a feature of it. We could build a garden shed beside it maybe, or a fire pit?’ Rob’s tone was reverent.

  A feature?

  Angie narrowed her gaze. ‘It’s gotta go, Rob. What if it topples over on Claudia? It’s almost as much of a hazard as that pond. The quicker we fence that, the better too.’ She shoved her hands on her hips as she looked from the old chimney to the algae-choked water feature. ‘Haven’t you read the stats on drownings?’

  Rob rolled his eyes but Angie continued to ruminate on the two hazards as they walked back to the yard. The chimney in the paddock may well be a historical piece, but they couldn’t afford to be sentimental when safety was at stake. She only had to think back to her father’s accident three years ago to know that life was a precious gift. The idea of Claudia buried beneath a pile of rubble or venturing into the pond was unthinkable.

  ‘I like the chimney,’ said Rob.

  We’ll see about that, she thought, casting her eyes back to the brick column one last time.

  Nine

  The small storage yard was the last stop on Rob and Brett’s way out of town. Brett waited out front with his ute and loaded trailer while Rob collected the final piece of the puzzle—his 1964 Harley-Davidson Panhead with matching sidecar. There was a spring in his step as he paid up the final account and returned the keys.

  Rob looked over his shoulder to make sure Brett wasn’t watching, then pulled a small ring box from its hiding spot under the sidecar seat. He flicked the lid with a smile. Sunlight glinted off the diamond and pearl setting.

  It’d been a gamble stashing the ring in the motorbike and leaving it at the storage shed, but he hadn’t wanted to risk Angie finding it in his sock drawer when she packed. Rob tucked the box into his jacket. He set the choke and throttle, kick-started the bike and let it warm up before following Brett out of the storage yard, mentally farewelling the small town that had been their home for the last few years. He’d arrived in Eden Creek with little more than a backpack and a room at the pub, and he was leaving with a child, a girlfriend, eighteen months of fly-in fly-out work under his belt and the last trailer-load of their belongings.

  He opened up the throttle as he left the town boundary, feeling the engine respond to his touch. His mine workmates had joked about how lucky he had been to escape the ‘old ball and chain’ of marriage, but he knew, more than anything, that he wanted to slip this ring onto Angie’s finger when they were more settled.

  Nothing clichéd about a Christmas proposal, he thought wryly.

  Diana guided the caravan into the far corner of the shed.

  ‘Back a little more. To the left, yep, a bit further.’ Angie held up her hand and called out to her sister. ‘Yep. That’ll do.’

  She slipped a log underneath the back wheels and stood back to admire the white- and yellow-striped van.

  ‘Home sweet home, huh?’ Diana swung down from the driver’s seat, admiring her reverse parking. ‘Pete can go eat his hat. I’m pretty much a professional caravan reverser now. Not even a dent this time. Now, are you sure you’ll be okay in this van for so long? Will Rob be happy with it being in this side of the shed?’

  Angie brushed away Diana’s worries.

  ‘It’ll be fine. And if he’s that fussed, he can shift it when he’s back from this last trailer-load,’ said Angie.

  Angie opened the caravan door, eager for another peek inside her new temporary home. It had felt good to hand back the rental keys this morning, and when Rob returned with the final load this afternoon, they’d be officially moved in.

  Diana grabbed her hand. ‘Let’s swim first. I feel bad heaping all the kids on Rosa, even though she insisted. It was almost like she was watching for our arrival.’

  Angie laughed. She’d lay money on the fact Rosa had kept at least one eye on Enderby Lane while doing her crafting, gardening or baking this morning. ‘Highly likely. But she means well.’

  ‘You seem more chilled now about leaving Claudia with her? That’ll be handy during the renos.’

  ‘It’s a work in progress. One minute I’m cool with it, the next I’m having flashbacks to finding that half-empty tin of formula.’

  As well as ruining Angie’s plan to exclusively breastfeed, the baby formula incident two years earlier had all but annihilated her relationship with Rosa and almost ruined things with her and Rob. Rosa’s apologies, and her plea that formula would help Claudia sleep longer, hadn’t cut the mustard, and although Rob couldn’t fully understand Angie’s furious reaction, he had eventually agreed Rosa had overstepped the mark.

  Angie shivered, despite the heat of the afternoon, trying to shrug off the memories and adopt a grateful attitude. Rosa’s help today had given them the breathing space to shift boxes and reverse the caravan into place without Diana’s four boys and Claudia underfoot. It’s in the past now.

  Her phone pinged with a text message.

  Brett’s about to leave with final trailer-load of boxes, I’ll follow him on the Harley. See you soon xx Rob

  She shot back a quick reply, telling him to meet the
m at the beach. She loaded an extra beach towel into Diana’s car, directed her sister to a secluded cove down the end of their road, and felt instantly cooler when the water came into view.

  The sight at the beach made them both smile.

  Rosa had Diana’s boys and Claudia all linked by a chain of hands as they jumped the small waves. As if she’d heard them over the excited squeals of the children, Rosa turned, shading her eyes as she squinted back into the sun, and waved.

  The McIntyre sisters waved back automatically.

  ‘Rosa looks like an angel in disguise. Maybe we could clone her?’

  Angie laughed. ‘Careful what you wish for.’

  ‘Look, if you don’t want her send her up my way. C’mon, I’ve got to get into the water. Last one in’s a rotten egg.’

  Angie tucked the blankets into the side of the narrow caravan bunk. She nestled Claudia’s well-loved toy dog under her arm and leaned in for one last kiss.

  ‘Sleep tight, princess. We’ll be right over there,’ she said, pointing to the double bed at the opposite end of the van.

  Claudia’s eyes lit up, but she couldn’t stifle the yawn creeping across her face. ‘Daddy?’ Claudia smiled, snuggling the stuffed dog.

  ‘He’ll be home soon’, Angie said, looking at her watch. ‘Any minute, in fact.’

  The sea air is working its magic, Angie thought, as Claudia’s eyes fluttered closed. The afternoon at the beach with Rosa, Diana and the kids had been glorious. No sandflies, no wind and twenty-eight heavenly degrees. Rob’s afternoon hadn’t panned out quite so well, with the trailer blowing a tyre on the highway between Eden Creek and Port Fairview. They’d be ready for a cold beer by the time they arrived home.

  She slipped away from the bunk bed, sliding the little curtains across to keep the light out of Claudia’s eyes.

  Which drawer were the stubby holders in? The bare essentials were packed in beside Diana and Pete’s caravan collection of cutlery and crockery. She quietly rifled through the tiny kitchenette cupboards, finding what she was after.

  Three months of renovations will fly by. Soon we’ll be in our new home and have as much storage space as we could ever need.

  Rob crested the final hill before home and accelerated out of the tight bend that twisted towards Port Fairview. It wasn’t one of his favourite corners—that honour belonged to a series of dipping, weaving bends out of Eden Creek. But it was the last, and he always made it count. Although it had been bittersweet to leave the circle of friends they’d made in Eden Creek, he felt a distinct sense of homecoming as he turned onto Enderby Lane.

  The cottage was silhouetted against a full moon. He took the slippery gravel track slowly—it would take a few months of traversing this driveway at dawn, on wet wintry afternoons and during dusty dry days before he knew each bump of the path well enough to trust it at speed.

  Rob removed his helmet and leather jacket. As well as the sound of the ocean, he could hear the burbling of Bottlebrush Creek in the paddocks to the south. He folded his gloves neatly, before turning to look at their cottage.

  The rickety table and chairs sitting on the front verandah made him grin. Ange had obviously been given free rein with the hand-me-downs in his parents’ hay shed. He wiped his jaw, wondering what else his mother had foisted on them.

  Through the darkness he could hear contented dairy cows snickering, coughing and walking through the grass. As a teenager, he’d felt trapped by the twice-daily milking. Not one fibre in his body had wanted to spend a minute more than necessary in the herringbone-style dairy, attaching vacuumed cups to udders and being showered with cow crap morning and night. He knew his father lived and breathed the farming life, relishing his role in putting milk on the table for families all across Victoria and the simple pleasure of listening to the cows on a calm night. Rob had never shared the passion. Max hadn’t minded it, though.

  Max … Another memory slipped into his mind, like a shot of whisky down the throat. The two of them standing on this very same spot as teenagers, Max outlining his vision for an extension out the side of the kitchen, with floor-to-ceiling glass on the eastern wall to capture the morning sun; Rob throwing around ideas for the cladding, back when they were planning their first business venture.

  Max the architect, Rob the builder.

  Max building new houses, Rob bringing old ones back to life.

  Back before things had spiralled out of control. Rob picked up his leather jacket, suddenly cold. Max made his bed, now he can lie in it.

  Rob looked at the shed, where Ange and Claudia were sleeping in a borrowed caravan, waiting for him to come home and start transforming the cottage into their new family home.

  It’s our dream. Damned if I’ll let Max spoil this for me too.

  Brett pulled in with the trailer.

  ‘Thanks mate, sorry it ran a bit later than planned,’ said Rob.

  ‘No sweat, Jonesy. It’ll be nice to sneak in after witching-hour’s over. Tessa normally lumps the bed, bath, book routine on me as soon as I walk in the door,’ said Brett.

  They worked together to unhook the trailer from Brett’s ute. A curtain of stars twinkled at them from overhead, with the clear skies adding a nip to the air.

  ‘No rain tonight, I’ll unpack it tomorrow, and whack a new tyre on it before I drop it back. Can I get you a beer?’

  ‘Nah, I’ll hit the frog and toad. Catch you soon.’

  Rob farewelled his friend with a wave and headed inside.

  Angie blinked in the inky darkness, trying to identify the noise. Did I fall asleep? She fumbled for her phone, illuminating the caravan interior as the door swung open and a tall figure ducked in. A beat of panic gave way to recognition.

  ‘Hey, Ange.’

  Rob crawled across the bed. His cheeks were like ice, his lips raised goosebumps as they pressed against hers.

  Angie giggled as his hands reached under the covers, barely biting back a shriek when his cool skin made contact.

  ‘God you’re cold.’ She snuggled back under the quilt to regain some warmth. She could feel his smile against her lips.

  He murmured into her mouth. ‘Worth a shot. You’re deliciously cosy. How’s a bloke to warm himself up after a long ride without a heater?’

  Angie put a finger to his lips, then cupped his hands near her mouth and blew on them. ‘Shh, you’ll wake Claudia. I can think of a good way to warm up if you take the chill off those icy fingers.’

  ‘I like the way you think,’ he whispered, rubbing his hands together to expedite the process. Angie sought his lips again and the next minute she was tugging his clothes off, eager for his body against hers. A sound came from the bunk bed. Rob tensed; Angie held her breath.

  A little voice came from behind the curtain. ‘Mummy.’

  Angie laughed into Rob’s chest, feeling his arm tuck around her, their romantic plan instantly quashed.

  ‘Bugger.’

  ‘Bugger indeed. We’ll continue this later.’ He landed a kiss on her cheek then eased off the bed to resettle Claudia.

  ‘How’s it feel to be a Port Fairview girl?’ said Rob, returning to bed.

  ‘I won’t be a local for at least another thirty years, but it’s good to know all our stuff’s in the one place. How was the trip home?’

  ‘Slow. We limped along to avoid another blow-out. But at least it was just a tyre, not an axle. Or my bike.’

  Angie laughed. She’d had a soft spot for Rob’s motorbikes ever since she’d rescued him from the side of the road. It had been more than three years ago, but her random act of kindness in helping a broken-down motorcyclist—albeit a handsome one—sometimes seemed like it had happened only yesterday. Passing the time together while Rob organised a bike trailer hadn’t been a problem, although it had later seemed ironic that Claudia’s conception came before the vintage bike parts had even arrived in the mail.

  ‘Be good to have my family and my bikes all together again in one place.’

  Angie rubbed her ey
es. ‘Is everything going to fit? Rosa said they needed the hay shed soon. Time to downsize?’

  He grinned, knowing her jibe was half-hearted.

  ‘We’ll squeeze them in somewhere, don’t you worry,’ said Rob, snuggling in closer.

  Ten

  Angie looked away as Brett crouched beside the bathroom sink, checking the underside for drips. She’d heard all about plumbers’ cracks, and had waxed many nether regions in her time at the salon, but there was still something confronting about the sight of the pale, hairy backside in front of her.

  Rob caught her eye and stifled a laugh.

  ‘Good as gold, mate. It’s not quite the Hilton, but it’ll get you through a few months,’ said Brett, straightening up and wiping his hands on his jeans. ‘You’re a brave one, Ange. My missus wouldn’t last two seconds in a set-up like this,’ he said, gesturing to the makeshift bathroom he’d helped upgrade.

  Angie hoisted Claudia higher on her hip. ‘We’re pretty tough, aren’t we, Claud.’

  Rob gave her a wink. ‘Besides, with this plumber on the job, we’ll smash through it in no time, right, Brett? Let us know how much we owe you, mate,’ he said, walking out into the shed and leaning against the caravan.

  ‘No hurry, Jonesy. I know you’re good for it,’ said Brett. ‘What are you up to tonight? You guys should join us for dinner at the pub, have a few frothies. Tessa’s dying to meet you, Ange.’

  Angie smiled back warmly. They’d only met an hour ago, but she could see why he was Rob’s closest friend. They shared the same easygoing nature, good humour and quick smile.

  ‘Sounds good to me. I look forward to getting all the dirt on this guy. He’s been pretty quiet about his teenage years,’ said Angie.

  Brett snorted, clapping a meaty hand on Rob’s shoulder. ‘If you want mud, you’ve shacked up with the wrong guy, Angie. Max is the wild child of the Jones clan; this guy’s as clean as a whistle. But I’ll try to rustle up a few skeletons for old times’ sake.’