by Mandy Magro
‘Oh, don’t mind me.’ Tony said, turning back on the wall he was painting. ‘You two lovebirds continue.’
Dean’s cheek colour matched her own as he gently placed her down, his hand lingering on her waist. Leaning in, he whispered in her ear, sending shivers over her.
‘Your kisses are delicious, like sweet honey, I want more of them later.’
Summer grinned, a little unstable on her feet from his touch. ‘Ditto.’
Getting back to the job at hand, Summer couldn’t help glancing in Dean’s direction, marvelling at the way his back tensed beneath his shirt every time he pushed the paint roller up the wall and the way his arm muscles would tighten as he gripped the handle. Just being in his presence made her feel weightless, carefree and safe, like she could face anything the universe tested her with. He somehow provided her with an inner strength, making her feel like she never wanted to leave his side. She’d never felt a connection so powerful in all her life. Occasionally he would glance over his shoulder at her, a cheeky smile on his sweet lips, his dimples indenting his cheeks in the sexiest of ways, and it would send a euphoric flutter of butterflies through her every time.
Reaching on her tippy toes to paint the top of the wall, being extremely cautious not to tip the ladder again, Summer’s thoughts began to drift from Dean to what her parents would think of him. She knew her father would give him the third degree, investigating whether Dean was marriage material for his little girl, discreetly probing about Dean’s financial position, which, Summer guessed from the modest family home, wasn’t substantial. Not that she cared in the slightest, but her father unquestionably would. And he wasn’t going to like the fact Dean wasn’t a tie wearer either, and had a job that would take him away from her frequently. She knew Dean wasn’t by any means la-di-da, and definitely not the type to have been fed from a silver spoon, unlike her father. Dean was down to earth, easy-going and beautifully countrified – damn sexy in her eyes!
Her mum would adore him from the get-go, she had no doubts about that, but there was something Marie wasn’t telling her, the panic behind her eyes when Summer had told her Dean’s last name fleeting but evident. She had tried to shrug it off at the time, but now it was beginning to bother her, a small seed of doubt planted in her. Why hadn’t Tony mentioned he had known her mum when she had met him?
CHAPTER
10
Christmas tunes played softly in the background, adding to the festive feel of the day. Outside the Lockwoods’ kitchen window a kangaroo and her joey bounded through the backyard, breaking the morning silence, the joey halting to pick up a mango that had dropped from the towering forty-year-old tree. Dean watched as the joey chomped hungrily, only taking a few bites before dropping it to the ground again and bounding after its mother. Although he loved all creatures, big and small, Dean shook his head as he thought of the numerous mango farmers around the Edens Edge area. Roos loved mangos, much to the annoyance of the farmers, and groups of roos had been known to easily devour two hundred kilos of fruit overnight – a major loss for the many already struggling tropical fruit growers.
The branches of the many fruit trees above the marsupials swayed as a flock of crimson rosellas fluttered from tree to tree, a beautiful sight to Dean’s eyes. In the scattered bushlands beyond the backyard, mole crickets chirped, their mating songs loud enough to match the volume of a full-scale orchestra. A family of kookaburras rested on the clothesline, their melodious laughter raucous.
Dean smiled, his heart swelling with pride. His home, the beautiful Aussie countryside, was coming to life for yet another day, and it was absolutely glorious, tranquil even, the absence of gunfire music to his ears. And to top it all off, he felt like he was floating on one of the very few clouds in the sky, his spirit still soaring after spending yesterday with Summer. Although it hadn’t been a typically romantic date, he’d enjoyed every second she was near him, allowing him the opportunity to steal glances of her beautiful face whenever he could.
They had finished painting late in the afternoon and then she had stayed on to have dinner with him and his dad, the conversation across the dining table so relaxed it was as though they had all known each other for a hundred years, a wonderful feeling but also a little out of the ordinary for his father. It was not like Tony Lockwood to get so close to someone so quickly; he was cautious of anyone new thanks to the war, and especially since the accident. Dean knew there was something special about Summer, no doubts about it, but he couldn’t help wondering if there was something else, if there was maybe something about Summer that reminded his dad of his mum. Could that be it? Or was there something his dad wasn’t telling him? He shook his head at his train of thought. It was so typical of him to be analysing everything down to the last detail.
Closing his eyes for a few moments, he recalled saying goodbye to Summer last night. Time had stood still as she’d slid her arms around his shoulders, her eyes searching his so intensely it felt as though she was climbing inside him. He’d leant in and kissed her on the cheek, slowly making his way to her lips with gentle caresses, the goose bumps rising on her skin and the deepening of her breath letting him know she was enjoying it as much as he was. And as his lips met hers, all his senses ignited, the power behind her kiss proving just how deep her feelings for him went. The fire within her had reached into his soul and inflamed his heart in the most beautiful of ways. It was as though they were whispering to each other with sweet words of love, without even having to utter a word. His hunger for her had hit boiling point in the heat of that moment, and he had almost picked her up from the front verandah and carried her to his bedroom to make slow, sweet, passionate love to her all night long. He longed to explore every inch of her, to get to know her in the most intimate of ways. But, perhaps sensing his hunger, Summer had taken a step back from him and quickly said goodnight before jumping in her car and driving off. It had confused him a little. Maybe it was just too soon for her, or maybe there was a deeper reason. Whatever it was, his instincts told him to move slowly with her, and he was going to be listening to his intuition. He didn’t want to risk ruining things between them.
His body tingling from the memory of her lips, Dean upended his rinsed coffee cup on the sink and turned to give Max a devilish grin, his fingers poised to tickle. With an ear-splitting squeal, Max bolted around the end of the dining table to avoid is uncle, his giggling infectious. Dean chased after him with Matilda in tow, laughing rowdily as they fell to the floor, Max encompassed in Dean’s arms. Matilda seized the moment and pounced on top of them, looking Christmassy with a pair of flashing reindeer ears and silver tinsel entwined around her collar, and then covered both Max’s and Dean’s faces in doggy dribble. The two boys failed miserably as they tried to curb their laughter, happy tears rolling freely down their cheeks.
At the end of the table, a sombre Tony read the newspaper, a steaming cup of coffee in his hand, and flecks of paint still speckled through his thin, greying hair. He stole the occasional glance, readjusting his reading glasses on the end of his nose as the boys’ friendly tussle enticed a smile to his lips. Kim wandered in and leant on the doorframe, her apron splattered with food and a damp tea towel draped over her shoulder. She smiled, enjoying the boys’ happy banter. This was what Christmas was meant to be, cheerful, spirited and bursting with love. If only it could be like this everyday. It had been a long time since such joy had echoed around the walls of the cottage, and it sounded wonderful.
While trying to avoid Matilda’s zealous licking, Dean caught his sister’s gaze. Giving her the thumbs up, he pretended to be overcome with Max’s weight, allowing himself to be tickled frantically by his nephew. It was nice to see his sister happy. The hollowness of Patricia not being present today was embedded deep within all of them, but only detectable in his father’s despondent eyes. If only he could find a way to make Tony laugh freely again.
In the corner of the combined dining and lounge room, the recently cut Christmas tree stood tall, the m
ulticoloured lights twirled around it performing spectacularly and the many beautifully wrapped presents beneath waiting to be opened after a traditional breakfast of freshly sliced leg ham, tomatoes from the garden and fried eggs. The delicious aromas of twelve-hour, cider, apple and fennel seed roasted pork wafted about the cottage. Kim had had to stay up until midnight to put the leg of pork in the oven but it’d be worth it. The dining table was set with their mum’s finest china and tastefully decorated with a red tablecloth, silver tinsel and sprinklings of gold glitter. A statue of a golden reindeer took pride of place in the centre of the table.
A few short sharp knocks halted the fun and brought everyone’s attention to the front door. A stab of silence filled the air, the solemn-looking silhouette of their neighbour on the other side of the flyscreen completely unexpected. The burly man tried to force a smile, but his dishevelled appearance and formidable eyes told another story, a story Dean feared to be told. Kim glanced at the familiar bloke, greeting him softly, and then back to Dean, both hands coming to rest on her chest, her wide eyes already filling with tears. Dean gave her a nod as he scrambled to his feet, his energetic smile having all but disappeared, and his heart punching like a pair of boxer’s fists against his chest. His instincts were screaming that this wasn’t a friendly visit, and his ears wanted to desperately shut out what he was about to be told. He walked on wobbly legs to the front door, his head spinning. Time seemed to freeze as the cottage fell unnervingly silent. Please God, no.
Dean’s hands shook as he grabbed the handle and pushed open the flyscreen door. Stepping out onto the verandah, he made sure to close the timber door behind him, not wanting Max – or his dad or sister for that matter – to hear what was about to be said. His family already worried enough about him never returning from war, so he knew this would hit home hard. He cleared his throat, praying for every bit of strength he could muster.
‘Mr Walters … how’s Tommy …?’
Jim Walters didn’t need to speak, his lips quivering as his already red-rimmed eyes filled with tears. He shook his head slowly, his gaze never leaving Dean’s. Dean stood frozen to the spot, unable to speak or move as his heart shattered like a thin sheet of glass. No. Jim can’t be right. Tommy can’t be … dead. His mind’s eye flashed over his very last moments with his mate, when he’d stood beside the stretcher, holding his bloodied hands, then watching on helplessly as Tommy was loaded onto the chopper. Then he thought of Renee, Tommy’s wife, and their two copper-haired, liberally freckled, free-spirited children. What where they going to do without their dad? How was Renee going to cope without her devoted husband? Dean wanted to scream out at God, punch something hard until his knuckles bled, start running and keep running until he passed out, anything but stand here and face the raw truth that his best mate had lost his final battle. It was a small reprieve knowing that Tommy’s mother, his wife and his two children would have been by his side.
Jim crumbled before him, falling to his knees, his head cradled in his weathered farmer’s hands as he wept. ‘Your sergeant was going to be the one to tell you, but I told him I wanted to do it. Why, Dean? Why did it have to be my Tommy? What did my boy ever do to deserve this?’
Coming to his senses and trying desperately to ignore his own despair, Dean knelt and took Jim into his arms as his own emotional reserve finally broke its banks and hot tears rolled freely down his cheeks. With his immediate family in Germany, Dean was all Jim had for comfort. The two men embraced each other tightly, bodies shaking as they cried together.
‘I’m so sorry Jim, I really am so truly sorry.’ It was all he could say. What words could be powerful enough to do justice to this horrifying news, to a father losing his only child to such devastating circumstances?
The buzz of Summer’s mobile phone alerted her to a new message. Her head full of shampoo suds she fumbled for the shower door, leaping from the stream of warm water to grab her phone from the hand basin. She prayed it was a reply from Dean. She had messaged him two hours ago to wish him a merry Christmas and he hadn’t yet replied, sending her imagination into overdrive that he had maybe had second thoughts about her. How could he, after the euphoric kiss they’d shared last night, Dean’s sweet lips making her feel as though she was tasting his soul. She had never before felt like she was making love to a man just by sharing a kiss. It was out of this world. She hoped he hadn’t noticed her quick departure, but she could sense he wanted to make love to her and she just wasn’t ready yet. It had been hard acting relaxed over breakfast with everyone this morning, her worries about Dean, her father’s dark mood because she hadn’t come home for dinner, and Marcus’s presence making her feel uncomfortable in her own home, leaving her a jittery mess.
Relieved when she spotted his name, she began to read his message, her lips moving softly and her voice at a whisper. Merry Christmas beautiful, I’m so sorry I didn’t get back to you straight away. My best mate that I told you about, Tommy, has passed away in Germany. I won’t be able to see you today. I have to be with Tommy’s father right now. Will try to catch up over the next few days. Miss you. Xxx
With trembling fingers, Summer immediately texted back. I’m so deeply sorry. There is nothing I can say or do to take away your pain right now, but please know I am here for you. I’ll give you a call tomorrow, if that’s okay? Big hugs to you. Xxx
Sliding herself down to the floor, Summer grabbed her towel from the rack and wrapped it around herself, the steam from the shower enveloping her. Fear filled her with the thought that it could be her getting this news someday, that she might have to handle losing Dean to the hideous clutches of war. The reality of being a soldier’s girlfriend descended upon her like a black cloud. Was she strong enough to handle it if, God forbid, it ever happened?
Two hours later, Summer was fussing in the kitchen with her mum and Sara while her dad, Vince and Marcus had a date in the sitting room with a bottle of whiskey. It was a typical Christmas lunch in the Milton household when they shared it with the Avolios: the men got to relax as they talked about the ways of the world while the women ran around like headless chooks preparing a feast fit for a king. Then they’d all sit at the table playing happy families, the men well on their way to being tanked, and the women not interested in the food after spending the morning preparing it. Normally she didn’t mind, but today Dean’s news meant she wasn’t in the mood for Christmas celebrations. Knowing Dean’s heart was broken made hers ache too. She wished she could wrap her arms around him and take his anguish away, because if she could, she would. She hated knowing he was hurting.
Finished with carving the turkey, Summer padded into the formal dining room, Fonzie hot on her trail, and placed the tray in the centre of the table. Sara followed behind her, carrying a platter of roast vegetables and a jug of her famous gravy and Marie balanced a tray of dinner rolls in one hand and a bowl of steamed green beans in the other. Summer stood back and admired the effort her mum had gone to with decorating the dining table. The Michael Bublé Christmas tunes added to the festive atmosphere, but it did little to lift her spirits. An arm went around her shoulder and gave her a squeeze.
‘I’m sorry to hear about Dean’s friend, Summer, but try to enjoy yourself today, okay? Christmas only comes once a year.’
Summer gave her mum a forced smile. ‘Yup, I’ll give it my best shot.’
Marie kissed her on the forehead. ‘That’s the spirit.’ She pointed to Fonzie, who was now drooling as he stared up at the table. ‘You better put the little man in his pen, darling, we don’t want to piss your father off now, do we?’
‘Mum!’ Summer gasped, smirking. Her mother never swore.
Marie chuckled, and then playfully covered her mouth. ‘Sorry, we don’t want to irritate your father now, do we?’
Summer sensed some tension between her parents, Marie’s tone laced with sarcasm. Now wasn’t the time to ask if everything was okay, though. Picking Fonzie up from the floor, she cuddled him into her so he didn’t leap from her arm
s and onto the food-laden table. ‘No worries, I’ll give him some leftovers later.’
‘Let’s have a toast before you put him away, Summer.’ An already tipsy Sara poured them all a glass of Moët, passing one each to Summer and Marie, before raising her glass in the air. ‘Merry Christmas to my two favourite women, may the day ahead be full of love and laughter.’
‘Merry Christmas,’ Summer chimed in, along with her mum, as the three of them clinked glasses. She took a small sip, then watched wide-eyed as her mum sculled the entire glass, and poured another. ‘Mum, don’t you reckon you should slow down a bit? You’ll be under the table before we’ve even had a chance to eat dessert with the way you’re going.’
Marie waved her hand in the air. ‘Don’t worry about me, darling, I can handle myself – just getting in the Christmas spirit … Anyhoos, better get the Grand Masters in before all the food goes cold.’ And, champagne in hand, off she waddled towards the sitting room.
Summer looked at Sara with raised eyebrows and Sara returned the gesture, silence sitting heavily between them.
Summer held up a wiggling Fonzie. ‘I’m going to go and pop this little scoundrel away. Back in a sec.’
‘Okey dokey,’ Sara said chirpily as she took her place at the eight-seater table.
Summer returned and the men joined them, along with a slightly flustered Marie. Summer caught Marcus’s eye as he passed her, deciding it was best not to wish him a merry Christmas when he sent daggers at her. She seethed inside. Anyone would think it was her who had done wrong by him! Donald took his seat at the head of the table, his face glowing red from the whiskey, while Marcus sat beside his father, as far away from Summer as possible.