Season of Shadow and Light

by Jenn J. McLeod

  ‘I have a bit of catching up to do on all the gossip by the look of things.’

  ‘Maybe an hour at the pub with Banjo would see you right,’ Aiden said. His joke—if it was one—landed flat and Paige sensed a degree of discomfort in the way his attention stayed on the hungry horses.

  ‘It’s been a while since you were home, Rory?’ Paige asked.

  ‘Home . . . yes,’ she repeated dreamily. ‘Not much of a welcome with the roads the way they are. I couldn’t have picked a worse time to try and drive here. My timing sucks. Always has, hasn’t it, Aido?’ The nudge she gave Aiden’s shoulder moved her body nearer, closing the gap between the pair. A possessive move if ever there was one, and hardly necessary, Paige thought. ‘Mind if I borrow Aiden for a minute?’

  Before Paige could figure out how to respond to such a question, Rory was tugging Aiden’s arm, leading him back up the rough path towards the house and away from Paige and the horses. Rebel whinnied and snorted, stirring up the lethargic-looking mare in the tartan coat, standing alone in the far corner.

  ‘Hey there, gorgeous, you feeling a little jealous? Come on over here then,’ Paige urged Rebel, anything to stop herself focusing on the couple in conversation a short distance away.

  Aiden and his relationships—his history—were none of her business. Paige would never know how much of an item he and Rory might have been because common sense dictated one thing . . .

  Never ask a bloke about an ex.

  Never.

  Ever.

  ‘So, you and Rory were close then?’ she blurted the second Aiden returned and the last visible speck of pink hair had disappeared in the distance.

  He eyed Paige, grinning. ‘She’s part of that long story I was talking about, but time’s marching on and if I’m going to whip up dinner I need to get a few more bits from the garden.’

  Paige had forgotten about his offer and it was on the tip of her tongue to let him off the hook. She and Alice were perfectly capable of preparing their own meals for the family, especially given the box of fresh produce he’d provided, and Matilda’s recent fascination with being a vegie-train. With Sharni back on shift at the pub most nights, it would only be the four of them—her, Mati, Liam, and Alice—therfore quiet; Sharni did talk a lot. Then the thought occurred to Paige: if Aiden found himself at a loose end he might trip on over to the cottage and make a cosy dinner for two.

  ‘Okay. Grab whatever you need and I’ll see you in the kitchen later.’ She picked up the empty bread bag, jammed it in her back pocket and said, ‘I’ll chop. You cook.’

  28

  With Alice detailing the two mud-splattered children who’d escaped the late afternoon heat by playing chasings under a garden sprinkler—as if the rain-sodden ground needed any more water—Paige and Aiden started on the promised macaroni cheese, with a spicy tomato-based version chock full of vegetables for the grownups. When it came to chopping celery, onion and garlic, Paige decided to leave it to Aiden, as he’d have the dicing done before she’d finished pouring them a red wine.

  She leaned back on the kitchen counter to watch the speed and dexterity of someone who’d been chopping, slicing and dicing his entire career.

  ‘You wouldn’t miss cooking for a living if suddenly you were able to establish your goat farm?’ she asked, passing him a cucumber for the salad.

  ‘Nope!’ he said smiling, his eyes fixed on her as his rapid dicing action produced uniform cucumber slices in seconds. One rolled off the chopping board and Paige caught it before it fell on to the floor. She examined the watery flesh and seeds of the vegetable, remembering when she would eat chunks of the stuff in the same way other people devoured watermelon on a hot summer’s day.

  ‘I miss food,’ she said dreamily.

  ‘I never realised how much I missed real food. Those flavours that burst in your mouth. The produce they sell in the city has nothing on fresh stuff. Paddock to plate is the only way. If not goat I’d be happy with a business that supplied real, fresh produce. Nothing big. Boutique style. Something that would allow diversification. The food biz is a fast-changing one. Food fads come and go. You need to keep up.’

  ‘What’s stopping you?’

  ‘A little thing called land.’

  ‘You have a family farm. Sharni made it sound big.’

  ‘I also have a brother who’s had the run of the place while I’ve been, as Eamon said the last time we discussed my idea, “off carousing”.’

  WHACK. Aiden drove the blade of his knife clear through the base of an iceberg lettuce. ‘Oh, and I think he might’ve added on more than one occasion, “and playing the shit-hot city chef” while basically slamming the door in my face and putting the kybosh on any further discussion.’ Strong hands tore at the crisp green head of lettuce, shredding the leaves into smaller pieces to fill the stainless steel mixing bowl.

  ‘So that’s it? What your brother says goes? What about your dad?’

  Aiden shrugged, attempted a smile. ‘I can’t explain.’

  Paige wondered if his risorius muscles were doing that thing Lance had mentioned. ‘Another long story?’ she pushed.

  ‘You could say that.’

  ‘I see, so I take it you’re not clever enough to talk and chop at the same time?’ she teased, tossing a red onion.

  He stopped chopping, caught the onion against his chest then gulped his wine. When he started dicing again, the words seemed to flow.

  ‘I won’t push Eamon,’ he explained. ‘I’ve planted the seed. If the idea grows on him then maybe, one day . . .’ Another gulp and the glass emptied. ‘Lately I’ve come to the realisation that the more you have the more you want. That’s Eamon. I’ve also learned the less you have, the less you want to be bothered fighting about.’ Besides, the guy’s got a right to be mad. I did take off and leave him to cope with everything. I sucked at being a big brother, and a son. Dad wasn’t in a good way. Worse after wife number two also walked out on him.’

  ‘Number two?’ Paige feigned ignorance.

  ‘Did I mention already Eamon and I are half-brothers? He’s younger than me by ten years, but I left him alone to care for Dad when he fell ill. I sent money home when I could, but you know what apprentice cooks are paid. Back then Dad mostly drank it away. Having two women walk out on you is a good reason, I suppose. Seems the old man didn’t keep his women too happy.’

  ‘Two divorces would be tough on anyone.’

  ‘No official divorce with number two. Number one was different. I was too young to remember the day my mother walked out when I was a baby, but there were plenty of rumours as I was growing up. Some of them really hurt, too. Once he stopped being angry, Dad started spending weekends away from home. I’d stay at the pub with Banjo. Got in some strife, too. Typical kid. Then, one weekend, Dad came back into my life and brought a woman and a baby. Suddenly, I had a brother to compete with. We were a couple of head-butting goats when Rory stepped in and took charge.’

  ‘Took charge?’

  ‘Geez, I sound like a loser. Bet I’m making a great impression.’

  ‘If it makes you feel better, I prefer honesty. I also tend to agree with you about the more you have the more you want. Mati’s father is a perfect example. I should say “was”. He’s slowed down on his spending a bit and spoils her less. Certainly nowhere near as irresponsible as he was once.’ Not with money, anyway, she wanted to add. Paige dug the tongs into the salad, tossing the bowl’s contents while Aiden seasoned with salt and cracked pepper.

  ‘I’m guessing my love of all things Mediterranean stems from my mother’s side of the family. Not sure I got much else. Family photos showed our relatives in Italy were all stocky, bronzed, and brown-eyed. I definitely got dad’s long, lean build.’

  ‘And his eyes?’ Paige said before she could stop herself.

  ‘Yeah, I s’pose.’ He grinned and those big, blue, bedazzling eyes bore into her. ‘When I decided I wanted to cook for a living, I knew it would mean finding an apprenticeship.
A move to the Gold Coast made sense, but to Dad and Eamon moving there was the beginning of the great divide.’

  Onion and garlic sweated in the pan and Aiden added freshly ground red chilli, along with smashed tomatoes—skin and all—for Paige to stir.

  ‘If you had land and you tended your vegetables or goats, or whatever, who around here would buy them? I don’t see much of a market.’

  ‘I’d have to sell a bit further afield. Not too far though. Over those mountains and down the other side there’s a mini metropolis. North coast New South Wales is one big seaside resort. A holiday mecca for families.’

  Don’t tell Alice, Paige wanted to say.

  ‘There’s kilometres of high-priced accommodation options and amazing restaurants doing incredible things. One innovative café, Hello Sawtell, is leading the way and a champion of the paddock to plate concept.’

  ‘You really have thought about this?’

  ‘I daydream a lot. Not much else to feed the mind, which is why having you around has been kind of therapeutic. You’re a very lovely distraction, Paige Turner.’

  ‘Aiden, I . . . Oh! Alice! Mati! There you are.’ Paige was a puppet, arm and leg strings snapped into action, her body jumping to attention.

  ‘Hmm, something smells good,’ Alice said.

  ‘I’ll have to take your word for it.’ Paige bent down to bury her blushing face in her daughter’s hug. Matilda’s skin was soft, her hair still damp and Paige knew it would smell of green apple shampoo. ‘Hungry, sweetie?’ she asked, pulling away to finger-comb her daughter’s fringe and reposition the sagging singlet strap back on her shoulder.

  ‘The kids’ macaroni is five minutes away,’ Aiden said. ‘As soon as my trusty apprentice manages to grate more cheese.’

  ‘Yes, Chef!’ Paige saluted, laughing when Liam and Mati did the same before chasing each other around the kitchen table.

  ‘You two,’ Alice slapped her hands together. ‘Outside, please, not kitchen. You know better, Matilda.’ Alice grabbed her granddaughter playfully and said, ‘Tell Nana Alice; what are kitchens?’

  ‘Food temples.’

  ‘And what is food?’ she coaxed.

  ‘Nectar.’

  ‘Good girl. Now, scoot, both of you.’

  ‘Temples? Nectar?’ Aiden quizzed as Alice left the kitchen behind the children.

  Paige mentally questioned the performance. What had once seemed a cute ritual at home suddenly made her daughter a performing seal. ‘As you can tell, we’re all a little food mad.’

  ‘Nothing wrong with that. Let’s get this meal on the table. More cheese. Come on, chop, chop!’

  ‘Yes, Chef!’ And as Paige stood back to let Aiden stir more chilli paste into the sauce, fantasy stirred a little fire inside her.

  29

  ‘Time for another coffee?’ Paige asked Aiden while wiping the last of the cutlery and gently closing the drawer to avoid waking the household. Even though she knew she probably shouldn’t encourage Aiden to stay late for fear of getting Alice offside—again—the night had been too much fun.

  ‘How about a liqueur?’

  Paige immediately shook her head. ‘Maybe not after the last time.’

  ‘This is a good one,’ Aiden reassured. ‘I happen to know there’s a bottle Sharni keeps right about . . .’ He stretched both arms high above Paige’s head, his body leaning in, forcing her to brace as her back bowed against the kitchen bench. ‘Here we go.’ He backed away, brandishing a big grin and a tall bottle of yellow liquid. In the other hand he held two shot glasses. ‘Ta dum!’

  ‘Limoncello?’ Paige asked. ‘I wouldn’t have taken her for the limoncello type.’

  ‘She’s not; otherwise it would be kept cold in the refrigerator. An ice cube will fix that. I put a batch down a few months ago. Old family recipe. A dark cupboard and eighty days later . . .’ He poured the drink that Paige had once described as liquid sunshine for a magazine article, then he broke one ice cube over each glass. ‘Come on. I can guarantee this is nothing like Stavros’s rocket fuel. You’ll be fine.’ Cupping the shot glasses in one hand, he flicked off the kitchen light on their way to the veranda.

  The night was sticky. More overnight falls had been predicted, but only light. The main rain event seemed to have passed.

  ‘Well?’ he asked impatiently after settling on the veranda steps. ‘What do you think?’

  Paige put the glass to one side. ‘From what I remember, it’s a lovely flavour. A beautiful balance of sweet and sour, I suspect.’

  ‘Hmm, no sense of taste. I forgot. Sorry about that.’

  ‘It’s okay. I do too, sometimes. Occasionally I’ll get a burst of something and an odd sensation, like a tingling in my mouth. Other things have a taste, only not in the way I remember. But flavour isn’t what’s important.’

  ‘Taste and smell are intimately entwined. Cooking 101. It’s smelling food that affects how we perceive taste.’

  ‘Exactly! But what I meant, what bothers me more about not smelling, is the thought that one day I might fail to detect something sinister, like smoke. I think I have about fifteen smoke detectors in my house.’

  ‘I never thought about things like that. Guess I only think in food terms.’

  ‘Most people do when I tell them, which is one reason why I don’t. There are also lots of occasions when I think one day I’ll be smelling or tasting something and wham! Senses all back in proper working order.’

  ‘Is that likely?’

  ‘A girl can dream. Lucky for me I have a good imagination when I need one.’ The instantaneous blush, probably capable of illuminating the porch, flooded her face with warmth and she pressed both palms to her cheeks.

  ‘What?’ Aiden asked. ‘You all right?’

  ‘Oh, yes, I probably don’t need to consume any more alcohol tonight. Maybe one more sip. I hate waste.’ She sipped through a cheeky smile, enjoying the fusion of a warm night and velvety liqueur pumping through her veins. Or was that Aiden producing the giddy, girly euphoria?

  Should she even be sitting here with a man who wasn’t her husband and feeling—? She stopped short. In her head she was going to say ‘happy’. But this wasn’t about being happy. Sitting here with Aiden was about feeling special, appreciated, maybe even wanted.

  She could pretend that was what it was, in the same way she’d been pretending to taste, smell and, more than anything, pretending her marriage was something she had to save—for Matilda’s sake. Had Robert felt the same things that Paige now recognised as missing from their relationship? Is that why he’d turned to Meeschell?

  Alice’s words echoed, ‘Two wrongs don’t make a right, Paige,’ which, basically translated, meant a husband’s infidelity was no justification for a wife’s flirtatious behaviour. And Paige was flirting with Aiden. She’d been flirting since that first day in The Beast on the way back from Saddleton. Not consciously—not at first. She was certain Aiden had flirted with her, too. They’d hit it off immediately: the easy conversation, the way they finished each other’s sentences, laughing in unison each time. They certainly shared a love of food. A real passion and appreciation of the art and science of cooking, not simply devouring every morsel the way Robert did, after which he would show his appreciation with a burp-fest. If he was at home by dinner time, he usually ate with the lights up full so he could finish reading a report, or some other document that couldn’t wait long enough for him to ask his wife how her day might have been.

  ‘Nice way to finish a good day?’ Aiden asked, the limoncello bottle mid-air. ‘Top up?’

  Paige smiled and shook her head. ‘The night’s intoxicating enough. It’s so tranquil.’

  ‘You’re right.’ He screwed the lid on tight and put the bottle to one side. ‘And that reminds me.’ Aiden stood up and walked over to the box of bits and pieces that sat on the floor outside the screen door. When he sat back down next to Paige he held something up, announcing, ‘Mozzies. They’re rife at this time of the year, especially with all
this moisture around and no breeze tonight keeping them at bay. You could be being eaten alive and not feel a thing.’ He removed the lid on the roll-on repellent and with a few swift swipes he’d drawn lines across his forehead, cheeks and arms. Then he said in his best sergeant major tone, ‘Pre-SENT arms!’

  After a few swipes, he dabbed her cheeks and forehead then strong hands spread the insecticide over her skin: slow, soft, deliberate strokes.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said, taking over the job herself, caution kicking in. She should say goodnight, but that seemed a little silly having just painted repellent over her skin. ‘Can I ask you something, Aiden?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Without your mum around, who taught you to cook?’

  ‘I boarded with an Italian family—the Agostinos—during my apprenticeship. Adele was a great teacher. Her meals were an event. A feast of flavours and colours and textures; no food was ever just plonked on a plate in that house, unlike in ours. A slab of cow, lightly seared and slammed on a dinner plate was mostly what we lived on as kids with Dad. If I wanted vegies, I got them myself.’

  ‘I know what you mean about food. I think I had a love-hate relationship with my job for a few years. Working with food stylists and photographers takes the shine off food.’

  ‘I heard food photography was more about putting the shine on food. I’ll have mine with a side of lacquer and boot polish. Isn’t that how it goes?’

  ‘They don’t do that any more. Well, the good ones don’t. Computers can do the same thing these days.’ She smiled. ‘I always tried to keep it as natural as possible. In the end though, the client is trying to sell something: fast food for the busy family, a gourmet magazine, a new restaurant. That’s what I mean about having a love-hate relationship. Food should be—’

  ‘Honest,’ Aiden finished before she did.

  ‘Exactly! Every bite needs to be a celebration of the senses.’