The Trouble With Choices Page 8

  ‘We’ll see.’ She got him to fetch the box in the back and followed him into the house, which was simple and homely, but the biggest surprise was that the interior was so light and airy. She looked around, admiring the use of timber and stone, and the big pot-belly stove that stood in one corner and no doubt made the entire home more than cosy come winter. ‘Wow,’ she admitted, stroking the baby joey through its pouch. ‘I didn’t expect it to be so light inside.’

  ‘It’s the aspect,’ he said, depositing the box on a timber table that looked like it had been carved from a tree with a chisel and hammer. ‘I designed it so it catches the winter sun but keeps out the summer heat.’

  ‘You designed it?’

  ‘And built it, sure, that too.’ She looked at the table and chairs and figured he’d probably also made those himself. Clearly, he was a man who was good with his hands.

  ‘So,’ he said, and she looked around to see his gaze fall to the pouch slung around her neck. ‘Are you going to be teaching me what I have to know about looking after the little tacker?’

  Hannah blinked and felt her cheeks burn that she had to be reminded of why she was there. ‘Let’s get started,’ she said.

  She went through the contents of the box first, showing him the bottles and teats and the Wombaroo powder especially formulated for feeding baby marsupials. She’d brought spare pouches, too, and a heat mat in case the joey got too cold, and she explained how and when to use it. Next, she showed him how to make up the milk, stressing the importance of hygiene and making sure the equipment was thoroughly sterilised.

  To his credit, the man listened, nodding his understanding, encouraging her to believe he could do this, and despite her first doubts, she found herself wanting him to succeed. For the joey’s sake, she told herself, because there was no other reason than that for wanting the joey to thrive.

  Then, when it was time to feed the joey, she showed him how to get the infant to take a bottle and had him feed her, offering him advice from the seat alongside, the bottle looking miniscule in his big hand. She watched him as he nursed the tiny kangaroo, its paws resting on his fingers as it drank, while it looked up at him with big dark eyes.

  ‘Aye,’ he said, looking down at it with abject adoration on his face. ‘She’s a right little sweetheart.’

  And all Hannah could think was he was the one who looked adorable. Curiosity once more got the better of her. ‘What are you doing out here?’

  ‘A bit of a tree change. I’ve got rid of all the blackberries in the creek and then I planted myself up some vines. Some chardonnay. A bit of savvy blanc. I’ll see how I go with that.’

  ‘No,’ she said, shaking her head and unable to suppress a smile. ‘What are you doing so far from home? From Ireland?’

  ‘Oh, you noticed, then?’

  She smiled. ‘It’s hard not to.’

  ‘Funny,’ he said, ‘when I go home, all me mates say I sound like an Aussie.’

  Her smile widened. Not even close. ‘Anyway, I didn’t mean to pry.’

  ‘I didn’t think you were prying. I thought you were making conversation. Mostly, I get to talk to myself out here, so it’s nice to have a conversation with somebody else every once in a while.’

  She knew she was being nosy, but still she pressed on. ‘There’s no Mrs Cummins?’

  ‘There was, but she wasn’t a fan of the heat and had a hankering for the emerald green of home.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be. I didn’t stop her goin’ and we’re both happier now that we’ve gone our separate ways.’

  ‘Any kids?’ she felt compelled to ask.

  ‘No kids, thank Christ, that made it easier.’ He studied her for a moment, his brows drawn together. ‘What about you, then? Do I need to feel guilty about keeping you out after hours when you have some nice fella waiting for you at home?’

  She felt a zing in her stomach that made her toes curl in her boots, a zing she was so unfamiliar with, it was hard to think straight. But he was just making conversation, too, she told herself. It wasn’t like he was hitting on her. She looked up at him. ‘There’s no need to feel guilty.’

  He smiled. ‘Grand,’ he said, before he turned his attention back to the kangaroo.

  As soon as the joey had been fed and toileted, Hannah figured it was time to leave the new carer with his charge. ‘If you get into any trouble, or you have any concerns at all,’ she stressed, ‘call one of the numbers on the help sheet. They’re all experienced carers and they’re used to fielding queries from novices. They’ll be able to help you out.’

  ‘I’d rather ask you, if you don’t mind, that is.’

  She shook her head. ‘I’m working most days. I can be hard to get hold of.’

  ‘I’d sure be wanting to try, in the first instance, I mean.’

  That was ridiculous, when she was so busy, but his blue eyes were imploring her and she found herself licking her lips and saying, ‘Sure. It could save time, I guess, given I know the joey’s history.’

  He grinned. ‘My thoughts exactly.’ She wasn’t sure if she was imagining it, because Hannah Faraday certainly wasn’t the dreamer in the family, but she got the strangest impression that they hadn’t been his thoughts at all.

  10

  Nick

  It was Penelope’s week to have Minnie, so it was a whole week before Nick had to go pick her up from school. A whole week to steel himself against the inevitability of seeing Sophie once more. A whole week in which he’d just about talked himself into believing it would be a doddle. He parked the Colorado on the road outside the school where he usually did and took a deep breath before climbing out. He’d walk in to meet Min like she expected, collect her bag from her locker, and wait outside her classroom until she ran out with all the day’s art and craft looking for a hug like she always did at the end of the school day.

  For one selfish minute, though, he’d actually considered asking her to pack her own bag and meet him in the car park, like Penelope got her to do so she didn’t have to mix with the other mums, but that after-school hug, that was pure gold. He wasn’t about to miss out on that.

  He closed the door of the ute. So it might be a bit awkward seeing Sophie that first time, but after that, it’d be a doddle.

  He greeted the mums who said hi to him, like he usually did, his obligations in that department well and truly acquitted—they knew he wasn’t one for small talk—and stepped inside the tiny school that had been established more than a century and a half before. He looked down the corridor. And bugger feeling like it usually did, it felt weird.

  It looked the same, the same corridor lined with lockers filled with kids’ bags, the same corridor hung with decorations for the latest celebration, Special Person’s Day. He saw Minnie’s picture of him on the wall amongst all the other mums and dads and grandies and smiled in spite of his edginess. Because he had black hair and two arms and two legs for sure, but as far as he was concerned, that was pretty much where the similarities with what his daughter had painted ended. Not that he wouldn’t be sticking it on the kitchen wall when the artwork got cleared away and sent home to make way for the next big thing. The siren sounded and he jumped, as if he hadn’t heard it a thousand times before.

  Yeah, it looked the same all right, but it just felt different, the air all but crackling. First time, he reminded himself. Next time he saw Sophie would be better. The next time would be easier.

  He collected Min’s bag and stood with the other parents outside the classroom and tried to calm his thoughts. Stupid to worry about it. If Sophie had wanted to get in touch with him, if she’d had a rethink about their one night, she’d had an entire week to do so. She could have called him any time. One night between consenting adults. That’s all it had been to her. That’s all it had been to him. That’s all it should be to him.

  Even if he couldn’t sleep at night for thinking about it.

  Get over it.

  The corridor suddenly erupted
with noise, milling with kids piling out of classrooms either side, parents calling for them to wait, did they have their hat, their lunchbox, their jumper. And all the while Nick’s nerves strained to breaking point.

  There was sweat trickling down the back of his neck by the time the door to Grade One/Two opened and kids started pouring out. Lots of kids. Mobs of kids. And in the middle of it was Minnie. Brilliant, he thought, they’d be out of here in thirty seconds flat. Piece of cake. It wasn’t like he was avoiding Sophie at all, but if he didn’t happen to bump into her …

  ‘Dad!’ His daughter barrelled into his legs with arms flung wide, both hands full of whatever it was she’d constructed today out of the cereal and tissue boxes he duly bagged up every couple of weeks to send in.

  ‘Hey, Minnie Mouse,’ he said, leaning down to give her a hug. ‘How was your day?’

  She let go of him and looked up at him all serious. ‘Penelope says you shouldn’t call me that.’

  ‘What?’ he said, not for the first time cursing a mother who insisted her child called her by her name and not simply ‘Mum’. ‘And why does Penelope say that?’

  ‘She says my name is Min-yon,’ she said, sounding out the syllables he knew she would have been schooled to do, ‘and that’s what you should call me. Not Minnie or Min or Minnie Mouse anymore.’

  ‘Yeah, well …’ Penelope-don’t-call-me-Penny would say that. He did his best to clamp down on the oily scum of aggravation that always floated to the surface whenever he heard that his ex-wife had been laying down the law. ‘What do you think?’

  She screwed up her face. ‘I like being called Min and Minnie. And Minnie Mouse. But only when you call me that.’

  ‘Well, that’s good. I figure it’s your name. You decide how you want to use it.’

  She nodded, seemingly satisfied, and he thought there was a chance he might gently usher her into the flow of foot traffic, but, ‘Look,’ she said, not going anywhere, holding up the mess of boxes she’d taped and glued together for his inspection.

  ‘Wow,’ he said, trying to make sense of the arrangement and drawing a blank. But he knew way better than to ask what it was, even when he had no idea. ‘That’s great. Did you make that?’

  She nodded. ‘Uh-huh. It’s a truck. I made it for you, so you can take all the apples to market.’ She held up what was in her other hand. ‘Only the engine keeps falling off.’

  ‘Ah.’ Now that she mentioned it, it could be a truck. Or a rocket ship. Or even a giraffe, for that matter. ‘That is the best present ever,’ he said, standing up and putting a guiding hand to his daughter’s slim shoulder. ‘But we’ll definitely need that engine. Let’s get going, and I’ll give you a hand fixing it at home.’

  ‘Min, you forgot—’

  A sizzle went down Nick’s spine as Sophie Faraday emerged from the classroom.

  ‘Oh,’ she said, stopping dead, even though most of the congestion had cleared, looking at Nick across the corridor. ‘Um, Nick. Hi.’

  God, she looked gorgeous. She was wearing one of those spotted fifties-style dresses all cinched in at the waist with the scoop neck and a big skirt, with her hair pulled back in a ponytail. She looked fresh-faced and innocent, and he really wished he wouldn’t get a hard-on just looking at her. But then she didn’t look unaffected, either. If he wasn’t mistaken, there was a distinct blush creeping up her face. ‘Hello, Sophie.’

  She sent a brief nod in his direction before she recovered, turning her attention to Min as she made her way across the corridor. ‘Min, oh, sorry, Mignon, you forgot your reader.’

  ‘Oh. Thanks, Ms Faraday.’

  But Min’s hands were full of truck, so Nick stepped forward and took the folder, careful not to go anywhere near Sophie’s hands. It was bad enough to be within range of her perfume, the same one she’d worn that night. As if he didn’t have enough reason to be pissed off. ‘You can call her Min.’

  She looked back at him, uncertainly. ‘We had a call, from—’

  ‘Penelope,’ he finished for her, slipping the reader into Min’s backpack. ‘I know. But Min wants to be called Min and I reckon it’s her decision.’

  ‘Of course, it’s just—’

  ‘So I reckon we’ll follow Min’s lead on this, don’t you?’

  Her chin ratcheted up a notch, and he saw the movement in her throat as she swallowed. That flawless throat he’d had his mouth and tongue and whiskers all over. And he realised he was searching for evidence …

  ‘Yeah. Thanks, Nick. I think I got that.’

  He dragged his eyes from her throat and met her gaze. ‘Right. Thanks for the reader.’ And then to his daughter, ‘Come on, Min. Let’s get this truck home.’

  He was still in a snit when he stashed Min’s latest creation and her backpack on the back seat and climbed in. But at least talking about his ex-wife had taken care of his hard-on.

  ‘Why were you so mean to Ms Faraday?’

  He turned to his daughter as he clicked his seatbelt. ‘Was I?’

  ‘It wasn’t her fault.’

  No? So whose fault was it? She was the one who’d looked so bloody tragic in that posh hotel room and made him want to hold her and put all manner of carnal ideas into his head. She was the one wearing the perfume today that had transported him straight back—do not pass go, do not collect $200—to that night.

  ‘If you don’t like Min-yon either, why did you call me it?’

  Ah! She was talking about that. Perhaps she was right, maybe he had been a bit gruff back there. It wasn’t Sophie’s fault that he had issues with his ex. Mignon definitely hadn’t been top of the pops on his list, but he’d learned long before the time Min had come along to pick his battles, and Penelope had been deadset keen on it. And then, because he’d wondered …

  He shrugged, putting the past firmly back where it belonged, and concentrated on the sanitised version of history. ‘Your mother loved it and I didn’t hate it, and I wanted to keep her happy.’

  He saw Min’s nod of acceptance in his rear-vision mirror and he thought he was home free.

  ‘You still didn’t have to be mean to Ms Faraday.’

  He sighed, knowing there was no point telling Min it was more complicated than that. ‘You’re right,’ he said, as he checked his mirrors and put the ute into drive.

  Yeah, seeing Sophie the first time since that night had been exactly like he thought it would be. A complete doddle.

  11

  Beth

  Beth was so late getting away from work that she didn’t stop at the supermarket like she wanted to, and still got to school too late to do a drive-by pick-up. She cursed under her breath when she saw the student-collection point empty, knowing that by now Siena and any other uncollected children would have been ushered back inside the school building to sit on the blue mat awaiting pick-up by their parents. Which, after about the third time this month of Beth being late, was the equivalent of the parental walk of shame.

  She sighed as she unclicked her seatbelt. Her job as a paramedic helped work around school times a lot, but when shifts ran long, as they seemed to be doing lately, not having a partner who could share parenting responsibilities put her out on a limb.

  Tough. There was not a hell of a lot she could do about that.

  Beth was halfway up to the school when she met the groundskeeper coming around a corner of the building, carrying what looked like half a shed full of equipment. He looked a bit taken aback when he saw her, but then his face lit up with a smile. ‘Hey, Beth.’

  ‘Hi, Harry,’ she said with a wave, in the midst of mentally checking her pantry for a quick butter chicken recipe for tonight’s dinner as she headed for the glass doors. Bugger—basmati rice. She was all out. She had enough other rice, though, didn’t she? She’d be thoroughly pissed if she had to venture back down the hill to get some.

  ‘Oh, and Beth?’

  Head full of ingredients, she wheeled around to see the man waiting, a blower-vac in one hand, the hose rolled in loops aroun
d the other. He’d always struck her as a gentle giant, a bit like Hagrid from the Harry Potter movies, with his wild hair and bushy beard. She’d always liked Hagrid. ‘I was wondering,’ he said, before he stalled, his teeth gnawing at his bottom lip.

  She tilted her head. ‘What?’

  ‘Well, I was wondering if you might like to come for a drink at the pub one night. Maybe this Friday night? Or Saturday?’

  She blinked. A drink at the pub? Nobody asked her for drinks at the pub. She hadn’t done drinks since forever. ‘Oh, I don’t …’

  ‘Just a drink,’ he said with a shrug. ‘A chat. That’s all.’

  Slowly, she shook her head. ‘I have Siena,’ she said, gesturing towards the building, seizing on the excuse.

  ‘Oh, of course,’ he said suddenly. ‘Fair enough, then.’ And he turned and trudged towards the shed.

  Beth shrugged and went on to get her daughter.

  ‘You’re late again,’ accused Siena five minutes later, on their way back to the car.

  Beth sighed. ‘Sorry, love, I got held up at work.’

  ‘So what did he want?’

  ‘What? Who?’

  ‘Harry. I saw you talking to him through the windows.’

  ‘Oh. He was just chatting.’

  ‘What about?’

  ‘About stuff. Why do you ask?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said with a shrug. ‘I just got the impression that he likes you.’

  Beth looked down at her daughter, a little miffed that she didn’t have to look down as far as she once had, and more than a little miffed that Siena might have picked up signals from Harry before she had. ‘What on earth gave you that impression?’

  ‘Because I know he likes you.’

  Beth arched a challenging brow as they climbed down the steps heading for the car.

  ‘He does,’ Siena said in her own defence. ‘He’s always asking how you are.’

  Her challenge morphed into surprise. ‘Since when?’

  ‘Okay, so he asked today when I was waiting for you at the steps before.’