Wildflower Ridge Page 8

  Penny winced sympathetically. She knew what it was like to be sick and tired of being sick and tired. She walked to the side door and set the lamb down in the backyard with the twins.

  ‘We’ve come to ask you a little favour,’ said Angie, putting the kettle on and pulling mugs from the cupboard.

  ‘Does this involve me forging Dad’s signature on absentee notes or ushering heartbroken boys out of the house after you’ve dumped them? Because that was so nineties.’

  ‘What? No, of course not. I’ve moved on since high school.’ Angie grinned.

  ‘It’s for me,’ said Diana.

  Penny was shocked; Diana never asked for help.

  ‘I promised the school I’d coordinate a craft activity this term, for one lesson a week in partnership with the disability centre. But with Pete’s mum on holidays and this damn cold, I can’t possibly run the class with these three in tow,’ she said, waving her hand outside, where the twins ran circles around the backyard.

  Angie placed tea and biscuits on the table.

  ‘I’ve just been reading Marian Keyes. She’s always marvellous and apparently, there’s such a thing as baking therapy.’

  ‘That’s why Angie and I reckon you’d be the perfect person to take the class, doing baking instead of craft, with the school kids.’ Diana looked at Angie, who spread her hands out in a flourish.

  ‘And bake yourself better at the same time!’

  Penny’s jaw dropped. She shook her head resolutely.

  ‘Me? And a classful of children and special needs people? Baking?’ She leaned back in her chair, laughing at her sisters. ‘It sounds like pure torture. I’d never sign up for something like that. I haven’t baked a thing in the last five years.’

  ‘If it’s good enough for Marian Keyes, it’s good enough for you,’ objected Angie. ‘Dr Sinclair thinks it’s a great idea. Think of the feel-good vibes you’ll get from helping the community.’ Penny ate her jam drop, pretending to consider the proposition. The boys dashed past the window, Hercules following close behind. She laughed at the scene and turned back to the table to see triumph and relief on Angie’s and Diana’s faces.

  ‘That’s great. We knew you’d be a trooper.’

  ‘Thanks, Pen, you’re a gem.’

  ‘Woah, I haven’t agreed to anything,’ said Penny, holding up her hands. ‘No, no, no. Sorry. I can’t do it. Why don’t you sign up for it, Angie?’

  ‘Don’t try and weasel your way out of this, Pen. The beauty salon is flat out. I can’t possibly stretch myself further, not with my apprentice running off to Queensland like a belated schoolie. And there’s no use asking Lara, not with Sam and everything else she’s got going on.’

  ‘More drama?’ Penny watched her sisters exchange a look and felt more out of the loop than ever.

  Diana nodded. ‘Lara’s turfed him out. Evie’s staying at our place while they sort their stuff out. She and Cameron have stayed up chatting well past bedtime the last two nights, but at least the poor thing’s got someone to talk to, I guess. And I’m glad she didn’t have to watch her father storm out, kicking doors and waking neighbours. God knows how Lara’s feeling about it all. She’s clammed up again.’

  Angie groaned. ‘If you want an update, just ask Mrs Beggs at the post office. She’s pretty much an expert on the subject. Now it takes me just as long to collect Dad’s newspapers from the general store as it takes to drive from my house back to Bridgefield. She’s heard from more than one of Lara’s neighbours that she and Sam are as hot-tempered as one another. God knows what other rumours are swirling around.’

  The three women sat quietly. Penny tried to put herself in Lara’s shoes, but came up with a blank. She and Vince never fought. Although she was pissed off about his minimal contact while she’d been at the farm, she couldn’t ever imagine them slamming doors and yelling. She shuddered at the thought. The resentment at falling to the bottom of Vince’s priority list didn’t sting quite so much these days, now that she was back into the lull of McIntyre Park. In the scheme of things, her predicament was a hiccup compared to the turmoil that must be playing out in Lara’s life at the moment. Her mind started to wander to the old Bridgefield scandal that had engulfed the Pattersons, and the subsequent storm she hadn’t been brave enough to weather by Tim’s side, when Angie broke the silence.

  ‘Come on, Pen. You’ve got more free time than anyone. What about your healthy mind, body, soul thingy? They’ll go together like scones and cream.’

  ‘And God knows I’d do it myself—’ Diana sneezed again, a glint of mischief creeping into her expression. ‘If you want to babysit these three for me?’

  Penny’s gaze swung wildly to the window, where she saw Harry smearing Elliot’s face with mud. Or is that sheep poo? She cringed and searched the kitchen for Leo, who had crawled across to the pantry and was silently but industriously spreading a packet of flour across the floor.

  ‘You’ll have another adult helper if you do the cooking classes. And they’re all independent kids, least you won’t have to change any nappies,’ offered Angie.

  ‘Go on, Pen. Never know, you might actually enjoy yourself.’

  Penny tipped her head back and stared at the cobwebs gathering on the kitchen ceiling. She sighed as she fixed her sisters with a steely look.

  ‘I’ll do this for you, but only as a very special favour for my two favourite sisters. Be warned right now—I’ll endure it. There’s Buckley’s chance I’ll enjoy it.’

  Seventeen

  Pollen blew across the town hall parking lot, wafts from the yellow cypress boughs sending Diana into yet another coughing fit. Penny glanced at her sister, hoping for her sake she looked worse than she felt. She juggled the bag of groceries on her arm, still unsure if she’d be able to convert the basic ingredients into something palatable. If it weren’t for Jade’s laughter down the phone line, she may well have pulled out.

  ‘Baking classes? You woke me up at 2 a.m. to tell me you’re worried about baking classes. That’s hilarious, you don’t even bake,’ Jade had scoffed. ‘Closest I’ve seen are those protein balls that require three glasses of water to swallow. I think you should choose the babysitting.’

  Penny hadn’t taken offence at her friend’s comments; she was kind of right. She’d left the baking behind when she moved out of McIntyre Park. But there was something nostalgic about the suggestion that had kept her from cancelling.

  ‘This is just a one-off,’ Penny warned Diana.

  ‘It will be good to get out of the house. And don’t forget, you’re from a long line of community volunteers. It’s about time you gave something back.’

  Penny bit her tongue as she thought of their mother’s endless bake sale contributions and school canteen duty. Diana had followed in her footsteps, and she knew Angie and Lara had completed various types of community service over the years. Cheerful daisy bushes lined the yellow weatherboard hall. Spider webs hung from the ornate burgundy trim and the tin roof glittered with rust. Diana hunched over, trying to smother another bout of sneezing and coughing. Penny grabbed the baking supplies from her hands and directed her back towards the car.

  ‘Go home and put your feet up before you infect everyone in the town.’ It felt good to be ordering her oldest sister around. For once, Diana didn’t argue. Penny nudged the groceries and the mixing bowls onto one arm. She pulled against the reluctant hinges of the heavy hall door with all her might. It creaked open and the musty scent of school concerts, Christmas gatherings and multi-generational birthday parties engulfed her.

  Noisy chatter and excited footsteps echoed across the hall, and suddenly she was surrounded by a group of children wearing navy aprons over their uniforms. They scooped up the bowls and unthreaded the shopping bags from her arm, then pressed a pink apron into her hand before racing to the kitchen.

  She slipped the apron over her head as the students unpacked ingredients for the chocolate cake and jam drops. The feminine design contrasted with her skinny jeans and
blouse. She ran her hands over the ruffled hem and floral pocket, a smile pricking at her lips. It would do.

  As she entered the small kitchen, Penny noticed a figure crouched in the corner, head down, pulling mixing spoons and baking trays out of the cupboard and handing them to a group of young adults. Penny spotted Eddie at the same time he saw her, and she watched the recognition blossom on his face.

  She laughed as he bustled up to her, almost bowling over a young primary school student in the process, only to hesitate when he reached her. He stuck out his hand shyly.

  ‘Penny, Penny, Penny. You cooking with us?’

  ‘Sure am, Eddie. Should be fun.’

  She hoped her voice sounded more confident than she felt. It certainly had been a long time between batches of biscuits. But Eddie’s bright smile was contagious; her apprehension melted away as she smiled back at him and his group of friends.

  ‘I wasn’t expecting to see you here, Mac,’ came a voice from behind the crowd.

  Eddie and his friends turned to the back of the kitchen. Penny’s heart jumped as she saw who was rifling through the cupboards: none other than Tim Patterson. Her smile dropped. Had she known exactly who the other adult helper was, she might have dug in her heels that bit harder.

  She looked at the eager faces before her; a range of ages and abilities eagerly awaiting their collaborative cooking session. She looked at Tim’s clenched jaw, and realised he hadn’t been expecting her either.

  As much as she wanted to rip off the pink apron, she knew it wouldn’t be fair to bail at this late stage. Penny took a deep breath. Calm mind, body and soul. What the hell is Tim Patterson doing in the hall kitchen in the middle of the working week? Doesn’t he have fences to fix or sheep to drench? She smoothed out the apron and swallowed a realisation—there might be a lot more to the adult version of this man that she didn’t know.

  Just as he had in the past five weeks, Tim worked hard to keep his distance. Half an hour into the baking class, he realised it was much easier on a 3,000-acre farm than in the tiny kitchen. The smell of Penny’s shampoo followed him around the 1950s room; a fruity aroma sweeter than anything in his and Eddie’s bathroom cabinet.

  ‘Sorry …’

  ‘No, you go first.’

  Tim pulled his hands back as they both reached for the same wooden spoon.

  I should have known Diana and Angie were cooking up something when they bribed me with pineapple sponge cake. Extending my volunteer shift at the special school is one thing but helping Penny McIntyre run a baking class—that’s a whole ’nother ball game. Almost worth it though, just to see the look on her face when she walked in.

  Tim turned, his smile slipping away as he unpacked her reaction. Was it really that much of a stretch for her to imagine me volunteering and giving back to my community? Everyone else in Bridgefield has moved on—does she really still believe I’m going to follow in my father’s footsteps?

  He watched Penny out the corner of his eye as she helped Eddie and his new primary school buddy make biscuits. The apron strings were tied twice around her dainty waist. The ridiculous diet she’d been on in the city might have stripped meat from her bones, but it hadn’t robbed her of the ability to wield a spatula.

  It was easy to see she was still a natural with the equipment, an inherent talent for cooking running through her veins. Tim watched Eddie fumble with the large bowl, unable to hold it steady at the same time as stirring. Penny reached across and showed him how to hug the bowl into his elbow. There hadn’t been much call for baking in their childhood. Baked goods, or more accurately the lack of, had been just another bone of contention between his parents. Tim let the children measure out flour as he fished his phone from his pocket. The room was too quiet; it needed some music. He needed some music. He pulled up a Keith Urban album, set it to play, and returned to his team of young bakers. The familiar stream of country music helped ease away the feeling he was completely out of his depth. Three tracks in and they were stirring something that resembled dough.

  ‘Looking good, little guys. Pretty sure they’ll be asking us to join the MasterChef team soon.’ He grinned and looked over at the other group. Even he could see Eddie was sneaking more into his mouth than he spooned onto the tray, but Penny kept passing him the mixture, praising each mound that made it to the tray. Tim turned back to the workbench, mimicking her actions with his group until their tray of biscuits was complete. He walked over to the oven, proud of their efforts until he slid the tray in alongside Penny’s straight rows. Their efforts looked distinctly mismatched in comparison.

  ‘Pretty good effort, I reckon. Don’t you, guys?’

  There was a cheerful chorus of agreement from the older girl beside him and the younger student on his right. He looked up to see Penny’s gaze upon him and wondered if she had noticed the defensive edge in his tone.

  ‘I’m sure they’ll taste great,’ she offered.

  ‘Too right. No need to fancy them up—kids will eat them regardless.’

  He wiped his hands on the blue apron and stared back at her grey–green eyes. For the first time since she had returned home, he allowed himself to scrutinise her, to see the woman she had grown into. He clocked the dangly earrings, the ever-present make-up and the carefully pulled-back hairstyle she had chosen for the day. Beats me why she gets herself dolled up like that every day. She’d be prettier without all that fuss.

  He thought about Stella’s make-up, lotions and potions that had once cluttered up his bathroom. What do I know about women, anyway? He looked down at his steadily rising biscuits, the misshapen balls merging into the neighbouring rows. About as much as I know about baking. All the more reason for me to steer clear of all women—high maintenance, low maintenance or otherwise.

  Penny stared back at him boldly, noting the frayed edges of his shirt collar, the hair curling around his ears and the short, scruffy beard that almost covered the thin scar on his jaw. The noise of dishes faded into the background as she searched his face, trying to pick out the differences between the troubled teenager she had turned against when the town had ostracised his family, and the man he was today.

  ‘Image isn’t everything.’ His voice sounded like a challenge.

  She could feel the hostility in his words, had noticed the clunky way he used the sieve and his unfamiliarity with the different ingredients. He obviously wasn’t a recreational baker.

  ‘No, but sometimes it’s nice putting a bit of effort in,’ she said, turning back to her group. Penny kept to her side of the kitchen for the rest of the session, finding herself swept up in the solace of measuring, mixing and guiding the children through the class. Perhaps it is possible to bake yourself happy, she marvelled, biting into a moist chocolate cupcake. Her desire to distance herself from Tim disappeared as she inhaled the scent of cocoa that had been her kryptonite for years. She swooned at the decadence of eating a warm, homemade cupcake straight from the cooling rack, mimicked by her star helper, Eddie.

  ‘Mmm-mmm.’ Eddie giggled as he peeled back the patty pan wrapper to take another bite. ‘Yummy.’

  The children murmured their agreement, and Penny smiled as she saw an identical yellow wrapper in Tim’s hand as he packed away the blueberry muffins his group had attempted. Their volcano-like muffins were untouched, the sides burned and the insides still gooey. Aware she was taking childish glee in his failure, Penny felt a thrill at her rusty yet superior baking skills.

  A cough from the back of the hall heralded Diana’s return. Tim strode past her with a container full of biscuits, nodding a quick hello on his way outside.

  ‘Looks like you’ve made enough for an army,’ said Diana. She shuffled over to the bench, a handkerchief scrunched up in her hand.

  Eddie came past for the final container of cupcakes and hugged Penny again. His face beamed with pride and joy.

  ‘Seems you’ve made a firm friend,’ Diana said, smiling.

  ‘I guess there’s something to be said about baking for
pleasure. And Eddie’s a lot more easy-going than his brother, that’s for sure,’ said Penny.

  Diana looked like she was about to ask something, but her mouth squeezed shut as Tim returned to the kitchen.

  ‘Baked goods are all packed. Deliver ’em straight back to the school?’

  Diana nodded. ‘That will be wonderful, Tim. Thanks so much.’ He dipped his head in reply before turning and leaving without a glance in Penny’s direction.

  ‘See you, Tim. Don’t let Eddie eat them all on the way,’ she called cheerfully.

  Eddie was hot on his heels as Tim paused at the open door.

  ‘I’ll get some more practice in before next week.’

  ‘Next week, Penny, thank you,’ added Eddie, waving.

  Penny frowned.

  ‘There is no next week; this is only a one-off, isn’t it?’ Her voice came out through gritted teeth as she shot a narrow look at Diana.

  ‘Perhaps I forgot to mention it? You’re all signed up for the five weeks,’ Diana mumbled, blowing her nose on the handkerchief and sniffling loudly.

  Penny’s gaze flitted to the back of the hall, where Tim and Eddie were silhouetted against the white sky. She didn’t like being forced into things, but she wasn’t going to give Tim the satisfaction of knowing she had been unwittingly sucked into one of Diana and Angie’s schemes.

  She smiled through gritted teeth and nodded, lifting a hand in farewell. There might be some science in this cooking therapy lark, but in the meantime, Diana owed her a serious explanation.

  Eighteen

  Hercules frolicked around the backyard, donkey-kicking his fluffy legs behind him and wagging his long tail. Penny marvelled at his energy and realised she was feeling relatively spritely herself. She looked at her slender wrists, flexing them back and forth, and spread her fingers out, reaching and contracting them without a hint of pain. Relief filtered through her body. It was the first time in ages she hadn’t winced with pain at the mere movement.