by Sasha Wasley
‘She wanted to know what insinuations meant. And when I told her, she got pissed off, accused everyone of having no bloody sense of humour and stormed off.’
‘Oh, no. Do you think she’ll quit?’
Tom shook his head. ‘Not bloody likely. She’ll simmer down soon enough. She’s the best-paid cook in Mount Clair and she knows it. Just ask her – she’ll tell you.’
Willow relaxed. Tom looked around the feed shed and she recalled this was where she’d forced him to make the pact all those years ago. She hoped he wasn’t thinking about it, too.
‘So, Chamber of Commerce awards night next weekend,’ he said. ‘I can still pick you up without expecting the stink-eye all night?’
She nodded sheepishly. ‘I’ll even buy you a drink.’
‘If we win, you gotta dance with me.’
Willow frowned. ‘I don’t dance.’
‘Don’t worry. We won’t win.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because half the judges own traditional cattle stations. Plus one of them has shares in Peel’s Pesticides and another used to employ most of our stockmen before they followed the good working conditions to Quintilla.’ He grinned.
She high-fived him. ‘I’ve never heard a better set of reasons for missing out on some hokey award.’
Willow cursed whoever invented gala events and wondered for the umpteenth time whether she should wear stockings. She gazed down at her left lower leg, showing through the slit in the blue dress, and finally decided stockings were required. Then remembered she owned none.
‘Free!’ she hollered out of the bedroom door.
Free joined her a moment later, her eyes wide. ‘Is everything okay?’
‘I need help. I have no stockings. And now I think about it, I have no matching shoes either.’
Free chewed a nail. ‘I’m not very good at girly dress-ups, Will. I don’t have any stockings, either.’ She brightened. ‘I have some cute shoes from Spain, though.’
She darted away and returned with a pair of strappy metallic heels.
‘Really? Will they work with a blue dress?’
Free shrugged. ‘Why not? Put them on and let’s see.’
Willow slipped on the shoes. They were fairly low, as heels went, but surprisingly they matched. Bonus.
‘Gorgeous,’ Free declared. ‘Want to borrow some jewellery? I’ve got a gemstone necklace and —’
‘Nah, I’m good,’ Willow said. She only ever wore her willow-tree pendant and there was no way she was swapping that out for a gaudy piece of costume jewellery.
‘I do really good Bollywood makeup,’ said Free. ‘I could do your eyes?’
Willow hid a smile. ‘I’ll pass, thanks. I’ll just sweat it off as soon as I step outside.’
‘Yeah, but the venue will have air-con. You’ll be fine.’ She disappeared and returned with a bag of makeup.
‘Thanks,’ Willow said, somewhat reluctantly. ‘I’ll do my own.’
She had a lipstick disaster when the one she chose from Free’s collection came out far redder than it looked. Rubbing it off didn’t help; her lips were stained a deep-pink. Willow put on more eyeliner than she normally would just to take the focus off her lips.
Then there was the problem of her hair. She generally wore her long hair in a functional ponytail so she didn’t get too hot, but that would hardly work for a gala event. She tried a few styles, which all looked terrible, and even thought about calling for Free’s help again but was stopped by the vision of her sister giving her some weird style she couldn’t pull off. Finally, she brushed it savagely and left it hanging down straight. What the hell did she care if she looked glamorous or not? She was going to this event to network, not to impress anyone with her style.
A horn honked in the driveway and she ran out through the lounge room. Free jumped up from the couch. ‘Will, you look beautiful!’ she said. ‘God, I’m jealous of your hair. So smooth and dark, it’s like satin. And how did you make your lips so sensual? Wow.’
Willow groaned. ‘Don’t mention the lips. Okay, Dad, I’m off. I’ll be late, probably, so I’ll see you in the morning. Enjoy your whatever-it-is, grand final thingy.’
‘Bye, sweetheart,’ Barry called.
‘Have fun!’ yelled Free.
She held up her dress and picked her way across the dusty drive to the Forrests’ car. Bob was at the wheel, Cathy beside him and Tom in the back. They all stared and appeared to be exchanging comments as she approached. She scrambled in.
‘You look lovely, Willow,’ said Cathy.
‘Pretty as a picture,’ was Bob’s opinion.
‘Thanks. You mob scrub up well, too. Green’s a nice colour on you, Cathy.’
Tom still had a bemused expression when Willow buckled up and she glared at him. ‘Not a word,’ she muttered, smoothing the satiny dress over her lap as Bob pulled the car around.
‘Not sure I’ve got any.’
She really had to stop all this blushing she was doing. ‘Thanks for the lift,’ she said, fighting through the embarrassment.
‘No worries, love.’ Cathy seemed a little warmer in manner than she had been recently. ‘How’s your dad?’
‘Good, thanks. He was in for his check-up this week and the cardiologist was happy with him. Blood pressure’s down, weight’s down. The blood tests haven’t come back yet but we’re hoping they’ll be good too.’
‘Thank heavens for you girls,’ said Cathy. ‘I don’t know what Barry would have done if you and Free hadn’t come home to look after him.’
‘Free’s perfect for Dad at the moment. She’s just sitting around watching TV and keeping him company. It slows him down. If it was just me, he’d be bored. I’d catch him sneaking out into the yards to get involved, I reckon.’
‘You said it,’ said Tom. ‘Is he tempted to take over every now and then?’
‘So far he’s been amazing. Really stepped back and let me do what I need to do. He’s curious, of course. I try to keep him informed and ask his opinion.’
‘Even when you don’t want it?’ Bob joked.
Willow laughed weakly and hoped she wasn’t like that.
‘So what do you think Beth’s chances are of winning her award tonight?’ said Bob.
‘No idea,’ she said. ‘The Chamber can have a bit of a boys’ club mentality, from what I’ve heard. But I had a look at the other nominees on the Chamber website, and I reckon she deserves to win. And that’s me being objective.’
‘As objective as a sister can be,’ put in Tom.
‘Even with my sisterly bias, I can see she’s a kick-arse doctor with a top-notch clinic, working hard for the community.’
They all agreed and conversation turned to farming for the rest of the ninety-minute journey into town. Tom kept sneaking looks at her. It was as if he didn’t realise she could see his glances.
Due to some roadworks, they arrived at Mount Clair Resort slightly later than planned and hurried past the row of palm trees that led to the dimly lit function room. There was Beth – organising drinks for the table. Willow hung back for a few moments to watch her sister’s leadership skills in full flight. Beth was currently informing the young clinic receptionist that she must drink a glass of water in between all alcoholic drinks – and have no more than two standard drinks before dinner – while directing each of her staff to a designated seat.
Willow landed a kiss on Beth’s cheek and complimented her chic little black-and-white cocktail dress. Beth immediately ordered Willow a sparkling wine and ushered her into the chair next to her own. On Willow’s other side, Cathy lay her purse beside the menu and accepted a glass from one of Beth’s staff. The award night gossip was running hot – there had been a late disqualification, and it seemed the winner of the Best Mining Services award had been leaked. Willow turned to ask Cathy if the Forrests had prepared a speech just in case, and was startled to find Tom in his mother’s place.
‘Where did you come from?’
He looked a
little self-conscious. ‘Beth tried to stick me between my dad and her practice manager. I schemed myself a better seat so we can whisper together about the winners.’ He fumbled with his napkin. ‘You need a drink, Banjo?’ She glanced at the full wineglass in hand. ‘Oh, cool. Cheers!’ He clinked his glass against hers.
Okay, he was acting weird. Pre-awards nerves, maybe. The waiters brought around prawn cocktails for entree so Willow settled for a bread roll and donated her prawns to Tom.
The awards night had a bizarre introduction – the Chamber of Commerce had selected an event theme of Looney Toons. Four elderly, somewhat-portly members of the organising committee came trotting out from different corners of the room to a Bugs Bunny theme song, wearing glittery top hats and carrying canes.
‘What the hell?’ Willow whispered.
‘They must have run out of themes. It’s been thirty-odd years of award nights,’ Tom muttered.
The performance was followed by kick-off speeches and then dinner was announced, with the promise of award presentations in the pause between mains and dessert.
‘Beef or chicken?’ the waiters asked as they served the tables.
‘Can I have the vegetarian option?’ Willow asked.
‘Vegetarian!’ The waiter stared as though Willow had requested a kosher meal. ‘Did you ask for a vegetarian meal when you bought your ticket?’
‘I’m not sure. Beth? Did you order me a vegetarian meal?’
‘Of course.’
The waiter looked worried. ‘I’ll check with the kitchen.’ He returned with a plate of grilled chicken and vegetables. ‘Chef says we didn’t get any vegetarian orders but this one’s gluten free.’
Willow didn’t know whether to laugh or argue so Beth took control. She argued.
‘Beth, don’t worry.’ Willow nudged her sister. ‘It’s okay, I’ll eat around the chicken.’ Beth was still wearing a deep frown. ‘It’s fine, seriously.’
‘Here.’ Tom forked half his vegetables and his bread roll onto Willow’s plate. ‘Hand over the chicken. It’s a fair trade.’
Willow did so, surreptitiously wiping the chicken juices off her plate with her napkin.
Tom winked at her. ‘Lucky me. There’s enough hormones in this chicken to make me grow boobs, I reckon.’
Willow burst into laughter and elbowed him to shut him up. ‘Who’s being militant now?’
She had a couple of glasses of sparkling wine with her meal, and had so much fun laughing with Tom and Beth that she didn’t want to stop the conversation when the awards presentation began.
But their table’s excitement grew as the announcement for Beth’s category drew closer. At last they called out the finalists for Best Professional Practice: there was a lawyer and an accountancy firm, as well as Beth’s practice. A rotund woman in a shiny, purple top hat clutched the microphone and read from a card in her hand, introducing the three nominees.
‘And without further ado, the winner of this year’s Best Professional Practice award, sponsored by Wavecrest Marine,’ the woman pushed her bifocals up her nose to see the card better, ‘is Mount Clair Medical Clinic.’
Willow suppressed a shriek, but she needn’t have been shy because their table went wild. Beth took her whole team up to accept, giving a dignified thank you speech, and returned with a glass trophy and a helium balloon in the shape of Porky Pig. Willow hugged her.
‘Finally the Mount Clair Chamber of Commerce gets something right,’ she whispered in her sister’s ear.
Dessert was next, with the final three special categories, including Innovation, being saved for the last part of the night. Beth groaned.
‘They’re really going to torture you, aren’t they?’ she said to Tom and his parents.
‘It’s okay. We already know we’re not winning,’ he reassured her. ‘But we had to buy tickets in order to enter, so we’re here for the dinner and free drinks.’
‘It’s good to get recognised as a finalist,’ Willow said. ‘That might raise awareness in town of what you’re doing at Quintilla, anyway.’
‘And you never know,’ Beth took a big gulp of bubbly, her sense of responsibility having temporarily given way to celebration, ‘you still might win. Stranger things have happened at these awards nights.’
‘I’ll tell you what will be strangest of all if we win,’ said Tom. ‘Banjo’s going to dance with me.’
Beth’s mouth fell open and she stared at Willow before giving a scream of laughter. ‘Jeez, I wonder if there’s still time to bribe the judges, because that would be totally worth it.’
‘Hey! I’ve danced before,’ Willow said.
‘When?’
‘I don’t know. At pubs when I was at uni.’ She gave a sheepish laugh.
They both scoffed and Tom refilled the glasses. There was a party atmosphere now that most of the awards had been handed out, and Willow felt herself getting light-headed. She tried to sip water alongside the wine but kept forgetting and going back to her champagne glass. A horribly rich chocolate mousse later, it was finally time for the announcement of the last three awards. She crossed her fingers and showed Tom. He gave a cynical roll of his eyes.
The Forrests looked more shocked than anyone when Quintilla Organic Beef was announced as the winner of the Innovation in Business award. Bob and Cathy were positively tongue-tied, so it was up to Tom to make the acceptance speech.
‘Wow, thanks,’ he said into the microphone, his grin enormous. ‘Only me, Mum and Dad are here tonight, but we obviously couldn’t have done it without the support and bloody hard work of our amazing staff. Our thanks go to them, and to the fantastic restaurants, supermarkets and butchers that purchase our meat. And I also want to say a big thanks to the grazier community in Mount Clair, who are always there to help each other out. I’ve sure learned a lot about organic, humane beef production from my neighbour Willow Paterson.’ Willow froze and gave an awkward smile as several heads turned her way. ‘She’s been teaching sustainable agriculture at a Perth university but recently came home to take Paterson Downs on the journey to certification as well. Thanks, everyone!’
The Forrests wove their way back to the table with a helium Tweety Bird balloon and the glass trophy, and Tom held up his hand to Willow for a high five. She gave it and congratulated the three of them.
‘Did you like the plug I gave you?’ he asked, lowering his voice while the last award was being announced. ‘Just planting a seed with the Chamber. You know, Look at this, Mr Chamber Prez sir, Quintilla’s not the only one doing freaking amazing things.’
‘Yes, it was very kind – and very embarrassing.’
He shot her a wicked grin.
They were a table full of winners now and all restraint vanished. Everyone ignored the coffee and tea being served and got stuck into the bubbly, heading out onto the dance floor as soon as the DJ started. Tom eyed her and Willow heaved a sigh.
‘All right, let’s get it over with.’
‘No, no, not this song,’ he said. ‘Winner’s choice.’
‘Fine.’ She sipped her wine and they got into an argument about whether Tweety Bird was a boy or a girl, which left Willow laughing so hard she nearly choked on her after-dinner mint. The DJ started a slow set and she looked at him apprehensively as older couples danced cheek-to-cheek to ‘Love Me Tender’.
‘I’m waiting for the “Macarena”,’ he told her, tapping the side of his nose.
‘You’re killing me,’ she wailed. ‘Why are you so cruel, Tom?’
When a U2 song started, he grabbed her hand and dragged her on to the floor, which was now crowded with drunk couples, many of whom had progressed to the snogging stage.
‘Why couldn’t it be “The Time Warp”?’ she complained as he pulled her into a dancing position and started to sway.
‘Stop your whining. You’re lucky it wasn’t “The Chicken Dance”,’ he shot back.
That set her laughing again. He made her spin under his arm, singing along to the song. She gave silent t
hanks he hadn’t made it uncomfortable by holding her super close like most of the other swaying couples.
His big, strong hand caught hers and he slipped his other arm around her waist. Okay . . . His body felt warm, and with her hand resting on his shoulder, the hardness of his muscle was more noticeable than ever. Suddenly she didn’t know where to look. When had Tom become so – so – such a man?
‘Hey, Banjo, you’ve only stepped on my toes five times so far. You’re doing great.’
‘I haven’t stepped on them once. Stop implying I’m a crap dancer.’
‘That’s six now,’ he said, eyes twinkling. ‘Not bad, considering we’re almost a third of the way through the song.’
‘Shut up!’
‘Look. Beth’s dancing with that lawyer bloke.’
She craned her neck to see. ‘He looks a bit old for her.’
Tom leaned down conspiratorially. ‘He’s been after her for years.’
She was going to ask him about that but the question seemed to trickle out of her head. This close, she could smell his faintly spicy aftershave. Yum, she thought, and was immediately horrified at herself for having had the thought.
She couldn’t seem to find anywhere to put her eyes, but Tom was looking down at her with an odd expression. She realised what the song was. ‘All I Want Is You’. Bono was crooning about promises made, and Tom still had that peculiar look and she couldn’t tear her gaze away. The moment dragged on torturously until his eyes dropped to her mouth for a microsecond. Her chest tightened. Willow deliberately turned her face to stare at her sister with the lawyer while she tried to steady her breathing, which had become fast and shallow.
‘You okay?’ he asked, stopping the swaying.
‘It’s hot,’ she said. ‘I’ve had too much to drink, I think. I need a water.’
He led her back to the table immediately, his manner more serious than it had been all night. He poured her a water and watched her drink. ‘Okay?’
She nodded. ‘Much better.’
‘Sorry. I should have pre-warned you about the Tom Forrest effect.’
She spluttered into her glass. ‘Oh, really!’
‘It’s a known phenomenon around these parts. Most of the chicks opt for inoculation.’ He leaned in. ‘It’s the only safe way to be around me. All those years in the city – your immunity must have worn down.’