The Trouble With Choices Read online

  ‘Probably just making conversation in that case.’

  ‘Maybe. But he didn’t ask anyone else.’

  Beth thought about Harry’s unexpected invitation despite the fact she’d never once given him a word of encouragement—never given anyone a word of encouragement, for that matter—and wondered why he’d bother. Because he thought she might be lonely? Gawd, she didn’t have time to be lonely. ‘Like I said, probably just making conversation.’ And she turned her mind right back to the rice situation—because hadn’t she made rice pudding just a couple of nights back …?

  She pressed the automatic unlock button on her key.

  ‘Mu-um?’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘If someone liked you, and you liked them, would you go out with them?’

  She stopped, her hand on the doorhandle, looking over the roof of her small car to her daughter. ‘What?’

  ‘I mean, if say Harry asked you out, you’d go on a date, wouldn’t you?’

  Beth sent her daughter a death stare, except it didn’t have the silencing power she was hoping for. ‘It’s just you never go out,’ Siena continued inside the car. ‘Everyone else’s mums go out to the movies or dinner all the time.’

  ‘I’m not everyone else’s mum. I have you to worry about.’

  ‘I’m ten years old! I’m not a baby.’

  ‘And that’s not the only consideration.’

  ‘Do you like Harry?’

  Beth rolled her eyes. God. Yes, she liked Harry, she guessed. Or rather, she didn’t dislike him. But then, she hardly knew him, and she certainly hadn’t planned on getting to know him any better. What was the point? ‘Hey, did I tell you we’re having butter chicken tonight? Your favourite.’

  Siena crossed her arms and pouted. ‘Are you changing the subject?’

  Beth snorted as she turned the key in the ignition. Kids grew up way too fast these days.

  Crap. No rice. Beth chewed on her lip as her daughter continued the hunt in the low shelves. Then she hit on a brainwave that would save them both some time and picked up the phone.

  Pop answered a few rings later. ‘Hi, Pop, it’s Beth. I wanted to ask if I could drop over to grab a cup of rice. Have you got some to spare?’

  Pop grunted. ‘You’d have to talk to Joanie about that.’

  ‘Okay, can you put Nan on?’

  ‘I would, only she’s not here.’

  ‘Oh, where is she?’

  ‘Gone for a walk.’

  Beth checked her watch. Getting on for five-thirty. She would have thought it was dinnertime at Nan and Pop’s by now, the way they liked to have dinner early. Nursing-home hours, the sisters all joked about it. But why not go for a walk when it was such a beautiful spring day?

  ‘So you didn’t go with her?’

  ‘I was busy with my plant. Plants, I mean. Um, and feeding the chooks. That’s right, I was feeding the chooks.’

  Beth shook her head. And there was Hannah worried about Nan losing the plot. She had no idea what Pop was talking about. ‘Okay. I might as well come over and check—’

  ‘Hey, Mum, I found some,’ yelled Siena in her ear, brandishing half a bag of rice that must have been tucked away in some dark corner of the pantry. And who knew how long it had been there, but hey, it was rice, and did rice even have an expiry date? Then again, who cared?

  ‘Forget that, Pop,’ Beth said. ‘Apparently we’re good.’

  ‘Forget what?’

  Beth wasn’t sure if he was joking or not. ‘I’ll see you Sunday,’ she said. ‘For your birthday lunch. Just in case you’ve forgotten, that is.’

  ‘I’m hardly likely to forget that!’ he said, taking umbrage, and Beth laughed.

  ‘Give my love to Nan. We’ll see you Sunday.’

  12

  Hannah

  Hannah refused to make anything of the fluttering in her belly as she turned into Declan’s driveway two days after she’d dropped off the joey. She’d skipped lunch, that was all that was. She was only here to check up on the joey. She’d been wrong to imagine he might call, just because he’d got her number. She’d be mad to imagine anything into Declan’s words or his deep-blue eyes or those damned dimples. She didn’t do flirting, and with good reason. She left that up to the likes of Sophie, who’d win gold if flirting were an Olympic event.

  No, Irish charm or not, if the joey wasn’t doing well, she’d be relieving Declan of his charge. And just because he’d hadn’t called her didn’t necessarily mean he was coping. She’d seen would-be carers overconfident in their abilities before, which is why they always followed up novices closely in the days following adoption.

  The sun had begun its slow track down in the west as she pulled up outside the house he called Hobbitville and applied the handbrake. A movement caught her eye and she turned towards it, totally unprepared for what she saw. Because there was Declan striding down towards her between the rows of vines, wearing his well-fitting jeans with a grin that split his face and a pouch slung over his neck, looking like it was the most natural thing in the world.

  And for a moment she resented the fact that he looked so supremely confident and like he didn’t need her at all. And she almost wanted to find a reason to take the joey away.

  For a tiny baby that had been through one hell of an ordeal only four short days before and a change of carers in between, the joey was in disgustingly good condition. Hannah finished her examination before rolling the joey back into its pouch, torn between relief and bewilderment. ‘Is there anything you can’t do?’ she asked, hanging the pouch up on a stand Declan had told her he’d fashioned from a few stray bits of timber.

  He cranked those twin dimples up to devastating as he checked whatever it was he had cooking in the oven that was driving her empty stomach wild. ‘Sure, my ex could probably give you a long list. But you’re happy then, with the little tacker?’

  ‘Couldn’t be happier,’ she said, as she washed her hands at the sink. ‘What can I say, you’re a natural.’

  ‘Aye, that’s grand. She’s a good little one.’ He pushed the oven tray back in and closed the door, straightening before her, his proximity making her skin tingle. ‘Have you eaten, Hannah?’

  ‘Me?’ she practically squeaked. There was something about the way he said her name with a long A that stroked her senses. ‘No.’

  ‘Only I’ve got a stuffed chicken in the cooker and there’s way too much for one. I’d love you to stay and help me out with it, if you don’t have to rush off, I mean.’

  She didn’t have to rush off as it happened, but still she wavered, a long-held practice of saying no not allowing her to follow her first impulse.

  ‘It’d be my way of thanking you for all you’ve done,’ he went on. ‘And I’m sure there’s a lot more wisdom about looking after wee joey here that you can pass on.’

  Well, if he put it like that … ‘Sure,’ she said, her stomach rumbling its applause, ‘it would be my pleasure.’

  She helped him prepare some beans and carrots, and soon they were sitting down to a meal of pancetta-stuffed chicken, with roast potatoes and steamed vegetables. Hannah couldn’t remember when she’d eaten so well on a weeknight, as she was more used to making something out of leftovers or microwaving a boxed meal from the freezer. ‘Don’t tell me,’ she said, only half kidding, ‘you must have been a chef in a former life to put something like that together.’

  He laughed. ‘No. Nothing like that. The bird comes already trussed up. All I did was bang it in the cooker and turn up the heat.’

  It was the joey’s turn to be fed next, and while the world outside glowed red under the setting sun, Hannah watched Declan handle the bottle warming and feeding like a practised pro rather than the novice that he was, the tiny joey staring up at him with what looked like adoration in her big dark eyes as she drank from the teat. ‘I think she likes me,’ he said, gazing down at his charge.

  Hannah wanted to ask what female wouldn’t, when that face was staring down at you, but
instead she asked, ‘Have you decided what to call her?’

  ‘I’ve been giving that some thought. I was going to call her Lucky, but then, she wasn’t lucky to lose her mam, so I decided to call her Seans Eile.’

  She frowned, the name meaning nothing to her. ‘Shance Ella?’

  ‘It’s Irish,’ he said with a grin. ‘Seans is “chance”, and Eile means “another”, which is what she’s got now, a second chance. I’ll probably shorten it to just Eile, but what do you think?’

  She nodded, and said with a smile, ‘It’s perfect.’ She shifted her gaze to study him as he finished feeding and confidently but gently toileted the infant. ‘Do you miss Ireland?’

  ‘Sometimes. I miss my hometown, a little town on the west coast, on a road called the Wild Atlantic Way. I miss the boiling sea and the wind that whips around you searching for a way in, but then I look out there,’ he said, gesturing to the sunset-painted gums, where the cockatoos screeched high up in the trees, ‘and I can’t think of a more beautiful place on God’s earth where I’d rather be.’

  Wow. She blinked at the poetry in his words as he tumbled the weary joey back into her pouch before turning his blue eyes on her, and for a moment—one heart-stopping moment—she thought he was going to add something else. Something else a whole lot more personal, a whole lot more threatening.

  Uh-oh. She swallowed hard and sprang to her feet, wiping suddenly clammy hands on her jeans. ‘Anyway, I should be going.’

  ‘Hannah?’ he said, also standing up. ‘Is something wrong?’

  ‘No, nothing,’ she said, but she made the mistake of looking at his eyes. Wild Atlantic eyes, she registered, that’s what they were, the colour of the ocean, wild and storm-tossed and dangerous. And she knew she was in danger if she stayed …

  ‘Thanks for dinner,’ she managed, feeling off balance and tongue-tied as she collected up her things and headed for the door.

  ‘Will you be back to check on Seans Eile at all?’

  ‘She’s doing fine. You’re doing a great job. Call … someone on that list if you have any concerns. Someone’s sure to be able to help you out. I’ll let them know to follow up on you.’ She spared a glance in the direction of the pouch where the baby kangaroo slept, and doubted he’d need to call anyone, the way he was looking after her, before she looked back at him, with the briefest nod. ‘Goodbye.’

  13

  Hannah

  Hannah pulled up outside her nan and pop’s cottage in Uraidla half an hour late for Pop’s birthday party, relieved to see that the guests of honour hadn’t arrived yet. No sign of Sophie’s car, either.

  She checked her phone—nothing—but then she wasn’t expecting any calls. Still … She retrieved the potato salad she’d made from the back seat of her Subaru, and made her way through the small house, the comforting scent of all her grandparents’ belongings wrapping around her like a hug. But it was that kind of house, full of Nan and Pop, carved chairs and lace tablecloths, and framed cross-stitch sayings on the wall like, Home is where the heart is, and Hannah’s personal favourite, You’ll always be my friend, you know too much. She always smiled at that one, unlike the one that said, Sometimes the wrong choices can still lead us to the right places. She wasn’t so sure about that one. Sometimes wrong choices were just that. Wrong. There was no coming back from wrong.

  She left the salad on the dining table with the rest of the food under the net cover, and joined everyone sitting outside on the back verandah, enjoying the mild October weather. Winter in the Adelaide Hills liked to hang on, so warm spring weather sent cooped-up indoor dwellers outdoors.

  ‘About time you got here,’ said Beth, as Hannah did the rounds of hugs and kisses, wincing at the big wad of photographs on the table. She would’ve liked to reach for them now and have a flick through, but she knew the drill. Nan would hand them out one by one with a detailed explanation of who was in them, along with a not-so-potted history of how this person came to be connected to the Faradays, whether or not this was common knowledge. The digital photo revolution clearly had bypassed Nan and Pop.

  ‘Not that late, am I?’ she said, pouring herself a glass of water and pulling up a chair. ‘I beat Sophie and I see Lucy and Dan aren’t here yet.’

  ‘Dan and Lucy are newlyweds,’ Nan said with an indulgent nod of the head.

  ‘Does that mean they can be late?’ protested Siena, fiddling with a game on her phone. ‘I’m starving.’

  ‘No,’ Hannah said with a wink at her niece. ‘Nan just means they might be so busy making goo-goo eyes at each other, they lose track of time.’

  ‘Yuck. I am so never going to fall in love.’

  ‘Excellent policy. And, for the record, you’re always starving,’ said Beth, offering her daughter a plate of carrot and celery sticks. ‘Have some veggies if you’re so hungry. They’ll all be here soon, don’t worry.’

  Siena sniffed, but settled for a carrot stick, crunching on it as noisily as she could before she declared, ‘This is boring. I’m going to visit the chooks.’

  ‘Mind you don’t go behind the shed,’ said Pop.

  ‘Why not?’ challenged Siena with the bolshie attitude of a ten-year-old who didn’t like to be told where not to go.

  ‘Because there’re spiders back there,’ Pop growled, holding up his hands like claws. ‘Big black ones, with fangs.’

  ‘Eww,’ said Siena, running off towards the chook house.

  Beth laughed as the bells rang out from the Anglican church right behind. Through it all, Hannah thought she heard the front screen door open and close, but then came the sounds of cupboard doors banging inside and she went to check it out. She found Sophie at an open kitchen cupboard with a packet of painkillers in her hand. ‘You okay?’ she asked, as her little sister popped open a couple of blisters.

  Sophie managed a weak smile though her face looked drawn, like her ponytail was pulling the skin back from her face. ‘Just cramps,’ she said, as she tossed the pills back and followed them with a glass of water. ‘But it could be worse, I guess. It sure beats being pregnant.’

  Her sister’s words were like a cheese grater against her skin, opening old wounds, exposing old memories. Stinging so much it was hard to keep the snark from her voice. ‘I thought you wanted kids.’

  ‘Yeah, I do, but not just yet, if it’s all the same to you.’

  ‘You shouldn’t joke about it. You don’t always get a say in when something like that happens.’

  ‘Relax, Han,’ said Sophie, stashing a quiche she’d brought into the oven to warm. ‘Why do you always have to take everything so seriously?’

  ‘Somebody has to.’

  ‘Lucky we’ve got you then, eh?’ she quipped, as she wiped her hands on a towel. ‘Come on, let’s get this party started.’

  ‘Lucy and Dan aren’t here yet.’

  ‘I’m sure they won’t mind if we get a head start.’

  Hannah followed her younger sister out the door, silently bristling as she watched her wishing Pop a happy birthday and greeting everyone like she didn’t have a care in the world. Did she think Hannah wanted to be the one who always took things seriously? Did Sophie think that she liked being the serious one? Hell no. But sometimes you didn’t get to choose. Sometimes life made you that way.

  She picked up her phone, saw there were no messages and turned it back over on the table with a sigh.

  ‘Yay,’ called Siena, running across the lawn. ‘Sophie’s here! Can we eat now?’

  ‘Not until Lucy and Dan get here,’ said her mother, and Siena groaned and headed back to the chook house.

  ‘Eighty-two years old,’ said Sophie, pulling up a chair and sticking a celery stick into the dip. ‘So how does it feel, Pop, being another year older.’

  Pop grunted, leaning back in his chair, resting his interlaced hands on his pot belly. ‘Well, it’s not all bad, when all is said and done.’

  ‘Yeah? That’s good.’

  ‘Yup, it beats the hell out of the alternative.
’ He laughed so hard at his own punch line, he gave himself a coughing fit. Beth sprang to her feet while Nan slapped him on the back, everyone else holding their breath until Pop spluttered and wheezed his way back down.

  ‘Serve yourself right, Clarence Faraday,’ said Nan. ‘You’ll be off to meet your maker sooner than you expect, if you keep that up.’

  ‘Settle down,’ Pop growled, reaching for his beer and taking a swig. ‘Laughter’s supposed to be the best medicine, don’t you know?’

  ‘It’s not supposed to kill you,’ Beth said, winking at Hannah and Sophie as she sat back down.

  Hannah rolled her eyes.

  ‘Oh, Pop,’ Sophie said, ‘I put a bottle of champagne in the fridge for later on, if we want to have a birthday toast with lunch. French champagne.’

  Pop sniffed and jiggled the half-drunk bottle of Coopers in his hands. ‘Well, I don’t go much for the fancy stuff. You reckon it’s as good as this?’

  ‘You try it and see,’ Sophie said.

  Hannah arched an eyebrow. ‘Nice of you to leave some champagne for somebody else, sis. How was your hangover the morning after the wedding?’

  Across the table Sophie sighed and Hannah congratulated herself. Direct hit. Had she been hoping they’d all forgotten? She watched Sophie pick up another celery stick from the plate. ‘I don’t recall having one.’

  ‘God, there’s a miracle on par with the virgin birth.’

  ‘Ha-ha,’ she said drily. ‘How about we change the subject?’

  Beth was quick to oblige. ‘So, what’s the goss on the absentee boyfriend? Have you heard from Jason at all?’

  ‘Not a word and that’s fine by me. I’m over him. Over all men, for that matter.’

  ‘What?’ said Beth.

  Hannah scoffed. ‘You mean, until the next guy you hook up with on HEA-dot-com.’

  Sophie shook her head. ‘I’ve cancelled my subscription. I’ve decided I don’t need a man.’

  ‘What? Not at all?’ asked Beth.