Anybody But Him

by Claire Baxter

  Her hand jerked and the last of the egg landed on the top of the stove. Damn.

  After a silence, he said, ‘Do you have any cheese?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, all you need to do now is grate some and sprinkle it on before you put it under the grill. I’ll leave you to it and head outside to make a start, if that’s okay. I’d switch the grill on to warm now if I were you.’

  ‘Got it.’

  While the grill was warming, she grated the cheese that was left over from the cheese and biscuits snack she usually ate in the evening in place of dinner. She topped the eggs with it, then transferred the pan to the grill.

  She cleared the junk off the table and set it for the two of them, which felt very strange. She boiled the kettle, and only checked on the progress under the grill a couple – well, six or so – times. She’d bought a small coffee plunger which she filled for herself, and she made tea for Blair. She switched off the grill and moved the pan to the bottom of the oven to keep warm.

  When she went out into the garden, Dammit ran along the path to meet her, circled her twice, then trotted ahead as she made her way towards Blair. Apparently unaware of her approach, he continued digging with his back to her and his T-shirt off, while she stood on the path, staring. Dammit sat next to her, also staring at Blair, but unlike her, the dog was probably thinking sensible thoughts like: Feed me. Throw me a ball. Feed me.

  ‘If you’re going to just stand there, you could at least stick your arms out and make like a scarecrow.’

  Startled, she said, ‘Hilarious. I’m laughing on the inside.’

  Actually, she was doing a lot more than that on the inside. She was melting. Her insides were turning to liquid, triggered by the sight of his muscular back, bending and straightening.

  What was she doing? For a moment there she’d been transported back to her school days when she’d dissolved into a puddle of longing at the sight of Blair playing sport. Any sport, she hadn’t been fussy.

  A natural, primal reaction, she told herself. Researchers who had nothing better to do had spent thousands of dollars on studies that showed women were physically attracted to men who looked like they had good hunter DNA. And undeniably, he had it. Didn’t mean he was right for her, and without a doubt, he wasn’t.

  ‘Breakfast’s ready.’

  He turned. ‘You don’t mind if I spend the whole morning here, do you? I have a lot more to do yet.’

  ‘Suit yourself.’

  ‘You can help if you like.’

  ‘I can’t. I’m waiting for a plumber, then I’m going out.’

  He strode to the path and stomped on the concrete to loosen the dirt from his boots. ‘Why do you need a plumber?’

  ‘The pipes are leaking inside the bathroom wall.’ She headed for the house.

  ‘Una never mentioned it,’ he said from close behind her.

  ‘Well, she wouldn’t have, because I only noticed it yesterday. She did warn me that the plumbing was dodgy, though.’

  ‘How do you know there’s a leak?’

  ‘There’s a knocking noise inside the wall behind the shower.’

  ‘I’ll take a look.’

  ‘No, thanks.’ She pushed open the back door and Dammit darted passed her into the kitchen. ‘I already called a plumber.’

  ‘And I’m not saying that you don’t need one, but I have to wash my hands anyway. I might as well see if there’s any visible sign of a leak.’

  He went off to the bathroom and with a shake of her head she turned towards the table, which was when she noticed Dammit giving her an eloquent look. Apparently she was supposed to feed him as well as his owner. What did dogs eat, anyway?

  She was sorting through Una’s cupboard, looking for a suitable dish to use for a dog when Blair returned to the kitchen.

  ‘I’ve found your leak.’

  She could hear the laughter in his voice before she turned round and saw his twinkling eyes. ‘That was quick.’

  ‘Yes, I’m a fast worker.’ He smiled.

  ‘I don’t understand what’s amusing you. Is it going to be expensive to fix?’

  He shook his head. ‘Nope. I’ve fixed it already.’

  She frowned. ‘How?’

  He held up something white and plastic.

  ‘Hey! That’s my shaver. What are you doing with it?’

  ‘This …’ he turned it over as if it were an archaeological exhibit, ‘… is your leak. I found it on the little shelf behind the shower. You’d left it running.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The battery’s nearly gone, but there’s enough power left to make it vibrate against the wall.’ He broke into a grin. ‘So, it could, possibly, have sounded like the pipes were knocking inside the wall. There’s no evidence of water leaking in there.’

  God, did this sort of thing happen to other people? He must really be enjoying this evidence of her stupidity.

  ‘Think you’d better cancel that plumber now.’

  ‘Yes.’ It might have been less mortifying if Blair had left well alone. On the other hand, she would have had to pay good money just to be told that she was an idiot. This way she had it confirmed for free.

  She made a brief phone call to the plumbing company, then grabbed an oven mitt and took the pan from the oven. She set it on a mat in the centre of the table where its contents looked incredibly appetising. She cut a small wedge of the frittata and plopped it into the metal dish she’d found, before chopping it into little chunks.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  Without looking up, she said, ‘Dammit wants some.’

  ‘Does he? He told you so, did he?’

  ‘Well, he looked at me as if he did. He is allowed to have it, isn’t he?’

  ‘Yes – there are no onions in it.’

  She looked up. ‘He doesn’t like onions?’

  ‘They’re bad for dogs.’

  ‘Oh. I didn’t know.’

  He pulled out a chair while she took the dish to the corner that Dammit had made his own. The little dog began to gobble up the food. Well, that was surprisingly gratifying.

  She spun back to the table to find Blair watching her with an odd expression. ‘What?’

  A moment passed before he shook his head and said, ‘Nothing.’ He picked up the knife she’d used and cut the frittata, placing the first slice on her plate. ‘This looks good. So, now that you don’t need to wait for a plumber, what are you going to do with your free morning?’

  She sat opposite him. ‘I’ll go and check on my parents.’

  ‘Right, of course. How are they?’

  ‘Oh, you know. Same as ever. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten what you used to say about them as well.’

  He looked up. ‘I remember that we used to laugh at some of the things they did, but you have to admit, they were funny.’

  ‘To you, maybe.’

  ‘Oh, come on. What about those notes your mum used to put in your lunch box? It was the highlight of the lunch break to find out what she’d written.’

  Nicola couldn’t believe it had taken her so long to learn that checking inside her lunch box before the lunch break was a very good idea. She’d made the mistake of confessing at home that she felt inferior to most of the girls at school, what with her dyslexia and her looks. Her mum’s idea of being supportive had been to write motivational notes in big red letters that she couldn’t fail to see. Nor could anyone seated nearby. Notes like, Your glass is half full, so don’t spill it.

  She hadn’t found it funny at all, unlike Blair and his mates.

  ‘You know, you still haven’t told me what Una is doing in Sydney, and why you’ve swapped houses with her.’

  She sighed. ‘Una wanted to get away from the demands of living near our parents, and being the one to worry about them. She felt it was my turn to do my bit, and her turn to only have to think about herself for a while.’

  ‘Is she writing?’

  ‘Yes, that’s another reason we swapped. She
wanted peace and quiet to write her latest book. Mind you, I had an email from her last night. So much for peace and quiet – she said she’s joined a writing group and is having a great time talking about writing with people who understand.’

  ‘Good for her. That’s something she doesn’t have around here. I think that’s why we became friends, actually. With her writing and my painting, we were both doing work that people had a hard time accepting as real jobs. It gave us something in common.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose so.’ She studied the food on her plate. Just how friendly were they? She didn’t like the thought of her sister becoming involved with him. That was too much to contemplate.

  ‘So, I can see how Una’s benefiting from the exchange, but what do you get out of it?’

  Frowning, she said, ‘I’m not supposed to get anything out of it. This is me paying back Una for what I owe her. I benefit by being able to leave again, and that day can’t come soon enough for me.’

  He gave her a silent, thoughtful look, then got to his feet and began clearing the table. ‘Breakfast was great, thanks. I’d better get on with what I came here to do.’

  ‘Yes.’ She stood up too. ‘Leave that. I’ll do it.’

  ‘Thanks.’ He headed to the door, opened it, then looked back. ‘Nicki?’

  ‘Nicola.’

  ‘Do you fancy going for a drink one night?’

  ‘A drink?’ she said, frowning as if it was an unfamiliar concept.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘You know, a beverage. A libation. Wet stuff in a glass. It’s meant to make you feel good.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry, I can’t. I’ll be busy that night.’

  ‘I didn’t say which night.’

  ‘No, I know.’ She shrugged as she carried the leftover food to the fridge.

  He nodded and left the kitchen. Which was what she’d wanted, but … No, there was no but. It was what she wanted.

  She bent to pick up Dammit’s dish–Una’s dish–and took it to the sink. Through the half of the window that wasn’t boarded up she watched Dammit chase a woodpigeon out of the garden as if he owned the place. It was kind of cute, actually, the way he did that.

  God, what was she thinking? She didn’t like dogs, and she didn’t like Blair Morrissey, so she could just stop finding anything cute about either one of them.

  Chapter 10

  A real estate agent’s For Sale board stood outside the house next door to her parents’ house – not the one belonging to Mrs Glebe, keeper of the key, but the other side. She locked the car door and turned in time to see her father appear from the side gate of the house in question. He glanced up and down the street, looking very suspicious, before beckoning to her.

  She hurried up the driveway. ‘What are you doing there, Dad? Is this place empty?’

  ‘Yes, yes. Come through to the back garden.’ He held the gate open for her, and she slipped through.

  ‘It’s still private property though, Dad, even if it’s empty.’

  He made a dismissive pfft sound through his teeth. ‘Who’s to know that we’re here?’

  ‘Well, the neighbours on the other side, for a start.’

  He ignored her, and led her to the patio at the rear of the house. ‘What do you think of those, then?’

  She looked in the direction of his pointing finger. ‘Of what?’

  ‘You could do with some of them on your driveway instead of the gravel. Messy stuff, gravel.’

  ‘You mean the pavers?’ She stared, first at the pavers, then at her father. ‘It’s Una’s driveway, not mine, but what are you saying? You’re not suggesting that I take these pavers, are you? Steal them?’

  ‘It’s not stealing. There’s nobody living here.’

  Oh, boy. ‘But they do belong to someone. They’re selling them with the house, and when people come to look at the house, they’ll expect to see the patio where it’s supposed to be. I’d rather have to walk through mud to get to the house than steal someone else’s pavers.’

  ‘Now you’re just being picky.’ He jammed his hands on his hips and gazed around the garden. ‘What about that birdbath, then?’

  ‘What about it?’ She took him by the arm and tugged him out of the gate. ‘Dad, you can’t do this. Let’s go and have a cup of tea inside.’

  ‘I don’t want one. Your mother’s in there with Mrs Glebe and they’re doing women’s stuff.’ He shuddered. ‘I’ll be in my shed.’

  Nicola sighed and watched him head down his driveway. She wasn’t so sure that she wanted to go into the house now, either. What was going on with her dad? He used to know the difference between right and wrong, but now they seemed to be mixed up in his mind. She pushed open the front door and stopped. Her mum was standing in front of the hall mirror, a towel around her shoulders and her normally grey hair a fluorescent orange. Another woman – Mrs Glebe, Nicola presumed – stood beside her.

  ‘Mum? What have you done?’

  ‘Mrs Glebe did it.’

  The other woman turned to Nicola with a horrified expression. ‘She asked me to. I followed the instructions on the box. I didn’t know it was going to turn out like this, honestly.’

  ‘Where’s the box?’

  Mrs Glebe rushed off to fetch it, and Nicola sighed because the only course of action was one she didn’t want to take. But it had to be done. ‘I’ll take you to the hairdresser.’

  ‘Bless you, love, Maureen’s salon closed years ago.’

  ‘I know it did, but it’s reopened now with a new owner.’

  ‘Has it? I had no idea.’

  ‘If she’s any good, she’ll be able to do something about the colour.’

  Her mum turned back to the mirror. ‘You know, I’m getting used to it now. I might keep it.’

  ‘No,’ Nicola said quickly. ‘I really don’t think you should.’

  Mrs Glebe had returned in time to hear this exchange and as she handed the box over she said, ‘For heaven’s sake, no. If you walk down the street at night people will mistake you for one of those traffic cones. Think of the accidents you could cause.’

  It took several minutes to get her mum to see sense, and several more to get her organised and into the car – because Nicola refused to walk anywhere with her looking like that –but eventually they made it to the salon. Nicola prayed that Sarah wouldn’t have had a sudden influx of customers and would be able to see them without an appointment.

  ‘Very swish this place, isn’t it?’ her mum said when they were inside.

  Nicola nodded. For Redgum Valley, it was swish, but the effect had been achieved with nothing more than white paint, new basins, chairs, tiles on the floor, and a smart reception desk. Hardly cutting edge, she thought, rolling her eyes at her own pun.

  The young receptionist looked up with a smile. ‘Can I help you?’

  Nicola pointed at her mum’s hair.

  ‘Ah, I see. Yes. Done at home, was it?’

  Nicola nodded. ‘Can you fit her in?’

  ‘Well, as it’s an emergency …’ She stared down at the large appointment book on the desk. ‘If you don’t mind waiting for ten minutes or so, Sarah should be able to see you before her next appointment arrives.’

  ‘Great. No problem. Thank you.’ Nicola moved away from the reception desk, guiding her mum towards the waiting area near the window.

  ‘What’s happening?’

  ‘We need to wait for about ten minutes. Here, have a magazine to look at.’ She picked up a handful of glossy magazines from the pile on a glass coffee table, handed half of them to her mum and chose a chair at right angles to her.

  Distracted by the sight of Sarah working on a customer, scissors in one hand and comb in the other, she didn’t open her magazine. Sarah’s silvery hair was tied up in a top-knot today, and she looked fantastic. God, she hoped Lainey wouldn’t hate her for coming here. Nicola glanced at her orange-haired mum, who was staring open-mouthed at an article in the magazine. Maybe she should have taken a before photo as evidence of their dire nee
d. No one would deny it.

  ‘Oh, my good lord,’ her mum said. ‘The things some people do to themselves.’ She looked up at Nicola. ‘A woman in this here magazine says she gets all her body hair waxed off. All of it.’

  When Nicola didn’t react, she said, ‘You know what that means, don’t you? All her bits!’

  God, she wished her mother had a volume knob. ‘Shhh. Yes, Mum, I know.’

  The receptionist chimed in, ‘We offer that service here if you’re interested.’

  Her mum’s hand flew to her chest and she looked at the girl as if she’d been asked whether she was interested in walking down the main street naked.

  As a distraction, Nicola said, ‘I didn’t realise that you did waxing here.’

  ‘Oh, yes. We offer the full range of beauty services.’

  She nodded in acknowledgement. Her mum had returned to reading the magazine, her eyes wide, so Nicola opened her own magazine and flicked through it while the sound of a hairdryer filled the silence. When Sarah’s client came over to the reception desk to pay, Nicola looked up prepared to sneer in silence, but she had to admit, Sarah’s skill was impressive.

  A moment later, Sarah herself approached. ‘Hello, you can come through now, Mrs Doyle.’ Her smile changed to a puzzled frown when she saw Nicola. ‘You look familiar, but I’m sorry, I can’t place you.’

  ‘Nicola Doyle. We were in the same year at school.’

  ‘Oh, yes. You were friends with—’ She stopped, bit her lip, and looked uncomfortable.

  ‘Yes, I was friends with Lainey. Daniel’s wife.’

  ‘Oh, right. I remember now.’ Sarah’s brow wrinkled. ‘But don’t you mean ex-wife?’

  Nicola shook her head, slowly and emphatically. ‘She’s still his wife, and I’m still her friend.’

  ‘I see.’ Sarah chewed on her lip and looked as if she wanted to ask more questions, but she straightened her face and in a professional tone said, ‘Would you like to come through?’