Did her dad still use any of the stuff in his shed? Or had he lost the skills required to fix things along with his driving ability? It certainly didn’t look like he’d disturbed any of his tools in a long time.
‘See?’
Startled, she dragged her mind back to the present and her dad’s car. ‘See what?’
He was sitting in the driving seat. ‘Now that I’ve reconnected the battery the lights have started flashing again in here, see? The whole wiring system’s gone bonkers.’
She ducked her head into the car. ‘What? Do you mean the hazards?’
‘Hmm?’ He gave her a blank look.
‘Did you switch the hazard lights on?’
He shook his head. ‘Never touched ’em. What are they when they’re at home?’
Saving her breath, she straightened and looked at the front of the car. Sure enough the hazard lights were flashing. She reached into the car, past her dad, and pushed the big button on the dashboard with the triangle symbol. The lights stopped flashing.
‘Well, I’ll be—’ Her dad scratched his head with the screwdriver that was still in his hand. ‘How did you do that?’
‘All I did was switch off the hazard lights, Dad.’
He stuck out his chin. ‘But who put them on?’
‘You must have done.’
‘I told you I didn’t. I’ve never had that happen before in the whole time I’ve been driving.’
That couldn’t be true. He must have forgotten about hazard lights And yet he knew enough about the car’s electronics to connect the battery. His memory was like a piece of Swiss cheese – random holes appearing with no pattern to them. Weird.
‘Maybe you knocked the switch without realising?’
‘I’m not stupid. I would have noticed if I’d knocked it.’
‘Well anyway, I think you’d better phone the mechanic and tell him not to bother coming out. Say you’ve fixed the problem yourself.’
He grunted. ‘You call him for me, will you? On that mobile thin gummy you like so much.’
Her father had never trusted mobile phones and still refused to have one. Her mother did at least own one; she just forgot to take it with her when she went out. It spent its life in the kitchen drawer, more of a static than a mobile.
‘Is there something wrong with the house phone?’
‘Yes, there blooming well is. It’s inside the house.’
She emerged from the garage, blinking at the sudden brightness. She took out her mobile and keyed in Gary’s number as she approached the house. When she stepped up onto the porch she heard her mother belting out an Irish ballad, a sure sign that she was mad at her husband for something. At least it wasn’t ‘Danny Boy’. She saved that for the worst offences.
Nicola looked at her dad. ‘What have you done to upset her?’
‘Nothing.’ His response was too quick.
‘Dad, you know she’s going to tell me as soon as I go in. You might as well give me your side first.’
With a shrug, he said, ‘I don’t know why she’s making such a fuss about it. I only told her I was going to get a wig.’
‘A wig? For you?’
‘Well, of course it’s for me. Who else would you think I’d be getting it for, the budgie?’
Her dad had become a cross-dresser now? Really, she shouldn’t be surprised. Mortified, yes, but not surprised. ‘What … what colour? Is it blonde?’
‘Blonde?’ He blinked at her. ‘Of course not. It’s the same colour as the rest of my hair.’
‘Oh! You mean a toupee?’
‘What did you think I was talking about?’
‘Nothing,’ she said, shaking her head. Well, that was a relief anyway. Gary answered his phone, and she passed on the news that he was no longer needed. She was lucky he hadn’t blocked her number after the strong terms she’d used to get him to fix Una’s car last weekend. When she’d finished the call, she looked around, but her dad had disappeared. With a sigh, she pushed at the door, which stood slightly ajar as usual. ‘Mum?’
‘Ah, is it yourself, Nicola?’
Nicola resisted the urge to look down and check. ‘Hi, Mum.’
‘Come on in and I’ll put the kettle on.’
In the kitchen, Nicola watched her mother fill the kettle and switch it on, then reach into a cupboard and bring out the old green biscuit tin. Her mouth watered before the lid had even come off. She knew what was in there; it had been used for the same thing for as long as she could remember.
‘Here we are now. A fresh batch of shortbread, baked this morning.’
She groaned. ‘You’re going to make me fat, Mum.’
‘Ack, go on with you. There’s nothing wrong with putting a layer of meat over those bones. Sydney has made you skinny.’
Not without a lot of effort from her. But one piece wouldn’t hurt. She reached into the tin and her mother gave a satisfied nod.
‘Did you see that useless lump of a husband of mine outside? Wait till you hear what he’s gone and done now.’
‘I already know.’
Her mother closed her mouth, then turned to prepare the teapot. No teabag in a cup for her. ‘He told you, did he?’
‘Is it such a bad thing?’
‘Yes.’ Her mother looked horrified. ‘He says it will make him look ten years younger. But I say it will make him look ten years sillier.’
‘In the grand scheme of things, though—’
‘Don’t you be encouraging him now, Nicola.’
‘I’m not, but—’
‘Do you know the difference between your father, and one of those expensive wines you like so much?’
Other than the fact that one helped her to relax while the other had the opposite effect? She shrugged. ‘Not really.’
‘The wine matures with age. Your father doesn’t.’
Well, that too.
‘And I told him, if he really wants to pretend he’s a young man, he should get some of that … what do you call it? Something to perk him up.’
‘A multivitamin?’
‘Vigoro. That’s it.’
Nicola inhaled a chunk of shortbread. When the coughing subsided enough that she could speak, she said. ‘No, Mum, that’s not it.’
‘No? Sure, I thought that was what it was called. Anyway, is it expensive? If it costs a lot, maybe you could give him some for his birthday?’
‘No, no. I couldn’t.’ She’d rather eat her own hair.
‘Pity.’ Her mother brought the teapot to the table. ‘Mind you, he’s always been hopeless at taking tablets. Knowing him he’d take so long to swallow it, he’d only get a stiff neck.’
Chapter 8
Nicola was getting into the swing of working at Birchmoors, and becoming used to the way things were done there. She was signing cheques for the creditors who, for one reason or another, didn’t want payment by direct deposit. It wasn’t the most challenging of tasks, and she was glad of the distraction when Hayden entered her office. She glanced up as he came through the door. Cute, very cute, she thought as she signed one more cheque before giving him her full attention.
‘What can I do for you?’ she asked with a smile.
‘More of the same, I’m afraid. I need your signature on this cheque requisition.’
She held out her hand for the form and scanned it as she took it from him. ‘This is the same company as last time, isn’t it?’
‘Yes. We use them on every project.’
‘Do we?’ She signed the bottom of the page. ‘If that’s the case, why don’t we set up an account?’
‘Oh, we did try, but they didn’t want to know. They prefer to operate on this basis.’
‘How old-fashioned of them.’
‘True, but they’re the best at what they do, so it’s worth our while to go along with their requirements.’
‘Still, it seems like a hassle for you to have to go through this procedure every time.’
‘No, not at all. It gives me a chance to see
you.’ He smiled. ‘Hey, are you busy on Friday night? Would you like to go out for a drink?’
‘Oh.’ Surprised by his words, and by the excitement that skittered across her skin at hearing them, Nicola gave him a regretful smile. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t.’
‘No, don’t say that.’ He sat on the edge of her desk and leaned closer. ‘I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since last week.’
Her stomach leapt. She glanced through to Travis’s desk and was relieved to see it unoccupied. ‘I’ve already made plans for Friday, I’m afraid. I’m going out to dinner with Lainey.’
‘Saturday, then?’
‘I’d love to.’
‘Excellent.’
‘Sorry,’ Travis said from the doorway.
Hayden pushed off her desk, and Nicola turned in time to see coffee slosh over the edge of a mug as Travis backed away from the door.
‘Hold on. Was that mine?’ she said.
‘Yes.’
‘Well, don’t take it away.’
‘Give me your mobile number,’ Hayden said, ‘and I’ll call you on Saturday to make arrangements.’
She told him the number and watched him enter it into his phone.
‘Roll on Saturday.’ He winked as he left the office.
Travis handed her the mug, then grabbed a wad of tissues from the box on her desk and mopped at the coffee puddle. Without looking up, he said, ‘Are you going to date him?’
‘I’m having a drink with him. Why?’
He went back to his desk, tossing the sodden tissues into his bin on the way. ‘No particular reason, but he doesn’t normally date women like you.’
‘Women like me?’
‘Smart.’ Travis hesitated. ‘Single.’
‘Are you trying to warn me off?’
‘Wouldn’t presume to.’
‘Good.’ She shrugged. ‘Like I said, it’s only a drink. Now, how are you going with checking the thirty-day payment run for Kate?’
‘Done.’
‘Great.’ She looked down at the pile of signed cheques on her own desk. ‘I’ll take these cheques to Lainey so they can be posted out today.’
Lainey looked up when she plonked the pile of cheques down on the reception desk.
‘All done.’ Nicola paused, then said, ‘I have some news. I’m going out with Hayden on Saturday.’
‘Oh.’ Lainey’s eyes widened. ‘He asked you out, on a date?’
Nicola nodded.
‘Are you sure you should go out with him?’
‘He’s very good-looking.’
‘Oh, yes, I know that, but do you really like him?’
‘I haven’t had a chance to work out whether I do or not. That’s what a first date is all about, isn’t it? Working out whether you like someone enough to want to see them again.’
‘But if you decide you don’t? Won’t it be awkward for you to work together afterwards?’
‘I don’t see why.’ Nicola shrugged. ‘I’d be adult about it. I assume he would too.’
‘Well, be careful, won’t you? I mean, it’s not long since Greg hurt you, and I wouldn’t like to see you unhappy while you’re here.’
‘Don’t worry about me. I know what I’m doing. It’s just a bit of fun.’
Chapter 9
Nicola opened the back door on Saturday morning, resigned to the knowledge that on the other side she would find Blair Morrissey. At least she was dressed this time.
‘Morning!’
‘So much for your agreement.’
‘What agreement?’
‘To only come round while I was at work.’
‘Sorry, couldn’t. I’ve been away again.’
‘Again? What do you do with the dog when you go away?’
‘He comes with me. Shall I put these on the table?’ He nodded at the box in his arms. ‘It’s kind of heavy this week. And,’ he said, delving into the box once he’d put it down, ‘I’ve brought you some fresh eggs from Mrs Thompson’s hens so you can have breakfast before you go out.’
‘Why?’
He frowned as he held out the egg carton. ‘Why what?’
‘Why would you do that for me?’
He shrugged. ‘I’ll take them away if you don’t want them.’
‘No,’ she said quickly as her stomach rumbled, then added, ‘What do I owe you?’
He shook his head. ‘Nothing, but you can make me breakfast if you like. I need to do some work out there today.’ He nodded through the back door that she was still holding open. ‘And I left home without eating.’
‘You have to do it today?’
‘Well, yes, because I’ll be off again on Monday, and I need to gather plenty of the leafy greens before they bolt to seed.’
She gave him a blank look.
‘Plus, I need to start preparing some ground for planting or there will be nothing to pick in summer.’
‘And that’s a problem?’
‘Yes. Una will be back then, won’t she? She’ll be disappointed if there’s nothing to harvest.’
‘Neither of you have heard of supermarkets?’ she muttered as she closed the door. An indignant yap stopped her at the last moment. She opened the door a little way and looked down at Dammit. He stared back at her. After a while, she sighed. How ridiculous was this? She was having a stand-off with a dog, for pity’s sake. She swung the door fully open.
‘All right. Come on in.’ As she turned from the door she caught Blair’s amused expression before he straightened his face. ‘Are you expecting me to make a frittata for breakfast?’
‘That would be great. Thanks for offering.’
‘I didn’t. You presumed on my good nature.’
He laughed. ‘Your what? Where have you been hiding that?’
She stalked past him to the shelf on the far wall. Una had several recipe books stacked there and she took one down, flipped to the index, scanned it and returned the book to the shelf. She reached for another one.
‘What are you doing?’
She jumped and snatched her hand back. ‘Don’t creep up on me like that.’
‘Sorry.’ He reached over her shoulder, took down the book she’d been reaching for, and handed it to her. ‘Are you looking for a frittata recipe?’
‘Well, duh.’ That, and trying not to notice how close he was.
‘Do you want me to show you how to make it?’
She swallowed. ‘I thought you had work to do.’
‘I do, but it won’t take long to show you.’
‘All right, then. I don’t cook, you see.’
‘Cooking is easy.’
‘I didn’t say I couldn’t cook. Of course I could if I wanted to, I said I don’t.’
‘Right. Well, all you do is chop the vegetables, fry them in a pan, beat the eggs with a little milk, pour the eggs over the vegetables and let it cook until it’s nearly set. Then you sprinkle cheese on the top and stick the pan under the grill till it’s puffed up and golden.’
‘Sounds easy.’ And listening to him had made her mouth water. Because she was hungry, not because he was so close she could feel his breath on her shoulder as he talked. She walked over to the box of vegetables and peered inside. ‘What shall I use?’
‘Zucchini, spinach, onion. You can pretty much take your pick.’
‘What’s this?’ She held up a bunch of leaves.
‘Spinach.’ Blair hesitated, looking as if he couldn’t quite believe she’d asked. ‘Maybe I’d better stay and help?’
She shrugged. ‘That’s up to you.’
‘Okay.’ He joined her at the table. ‘What about I chop the vegetables and you beat the eggs?’
‘Fine.’ Eggs she could handle. She knew what they looked like.
Five minutes later, as she attempted to fish yet another piece of shell out of the bowl, she decided that she’d got the short straw. Blair seemed to have received full cooperation from the vegetables, and already had olive oil heating up in the frying pan.
He
caught her watching him, and smiled. ‘Nearly done?’
‘Sure. Nearly.’ To distract him from the fact that she’d pushed her thumb through yet another egg she said, ‘So, why do you go away from home so much?’
‘I don’t normally, but recently I’ve been working on a portrait commission in Sydney. The client lives there, and for various reasons we’ve decided that it’s easier for me to work at her house. She puts us up from Monday to Thursday, and on Friday evening we drive home.’
‘Us?’
‘Dammit and me.’
‘Oh, right.’ She glanced at the dog. He was sitting in the corner of the room watching them so intently that she felt sure if either of them dropped any food, it wouldn’t reach the floor.
‘How much longer will the portrait take?’
‘Only a couple of weeks.’
He turned his back on her to add the vegetables to the pan and she took the opportunity to fish out the last of the shell before beating the eggs with a balloon whisk she’d found in the drawer.
‘So, you and Una …’ he said, looking over his shoulder. ‘What’s the story?’
Story? She stopped whisking. ‘We’re sisters. We’re closely related. We’ve known each other for a long time.’ She shrugged.
‘I mean, you’re very different, yet you both had the same upbringing.’
‘You mean, she’s nice?’
‘She is, actually. She’s great.’
‘Mm. I don’t know why. I guess she must have read the how-to guide. Must have been in an email I didn’t get. So, how long have you been friends?’
‘Ages.’
‘Really? And yet you didn’t like either of us in high school.’
Still holding the spatula, he turned and leaned back against the kitchen bench. ‘What makes you say that?’
‘Oh, please. You always had something derogatory to say about the Doyles.’
‘I did?’
‘Come on, don’t pretend you’ve forgotten.’ She picked up the bowl of beaten eggs. ‘Ready for these?’
He nodded. ‘Tip them into the pan.’
She did as he said.
‘I remember that Una was in the year above me, so I didn’t have a great deal to do with her. And you were in the year below– that much, I remember very well.’
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