Forget it. He balanced his weight on his hands, splayed on the kitchen counter, and glanced around the kitchen. It was his favourite room. While the front of the house was impressive, with high ceilings, elaborate plasterwork and big rooms, he never got tired of spending time here.
It would be sad when he closed the front door for good and walked away, the end of an era but the start of something new.
The kitchen had been the heart of the house when Kate had been alive. She wouldn’t have the kids in their rooms doing homework. When they arrived home from school she’d fed them slabs of bread spread with butter and jam. Not exactly health food but, thinking of his foster siblings, it hadn’t hurt them any. Then it would be time for homework, with all of them seated around the long farmhouse table, kicking shins and stealing each other’s pencils.
Just like a real family.
He hadn’t renovated the kitchen because he didn’t want shiny, slick design with wide pull-out drawers that slid closed on pressurised latches that barely made a snick. He wanted old wooden doors that would bang closed, the original cream-coloured subway tiles and scarred marble countertops. The patina of age soothed him, lending a permanence to his life that could almost convince him that he’d been born here instead of the chaotic home in Sydney’s west.
He loved the big old range that sat like a monolith against one wall and the dresser full of colourful, mismatched china, every piece of which held a story. Happy stories.
Those stories were linked to Kate and his childhood, or at least the part of it that had begun at eight when everything had started to go right. Before that, it had been a confusing world of violence and squalor.
He heard footsteps on the stairs and a moment later Shelby stood at the door. For a moment he was taken back years, to the countless times he’d looked up from the table and seen her enter, his heart beating so loudly in his chest he’d thought it would burst.
Princess Shelby. Long blonde hair. Blue eyes. Golden skin.
He’d been too young to think that her aloof demeanour meant anything more than the rightful behaviour of a princess towards her subjects.
She was better than him, he’d known that. Everybody was better than him back then, but not any more.
Dan shook his head and grown up Shelby was there, but this time she looked hesitant, as though she felt she didn’t belong. He’d let her keep that feeling a little longer.
She’d showered and changed into white skinny jeans and an off-the-shoulder aqua top that made the colour of her eyes pop. Her shoulders, alluringly golden, peeked through the shiny curtain of blonde hair.
Still the princess. Still utterly gorgeous.
He peeled his tongue off the roof of his mouth and forgot about payback. ‘Feeling better?’
She pulled out a chair and sank into it, stretched her arms above her head and, grasping an elbow with the opposite hand, leaned into a deep sideways stretch. ‘I’d forgotten how long that flight is. Thirteen hours is ridiculous.’ She changed arms, stretching to the opposite side. The movement pulled the thin fabric of her top tight across her breasts and his pulse hammered a little harder, just as it had in the old days. Crap.
‘Not so bad in business class, though.’ He dragged his gaze away and poured boiling water on the tea, then moved across to the dresser to collect some mugs.
She finished the stretch and glanced at him sharply. ‘I didn’t fly business.’
‘Ah. That would explain the lack of stretch limo just now.’
She made a face with just a twist of a rueful smile. It was like the old days, when everyone had chipped in to rib Shelby. If it wasn’t the way she spoke – well-modulated North Shore – it was her set of friends, her hobbies, her clothes. In those early days it had been childish sticks and stones stuff but later, when they were adolescents, the taunts had acquired an uncomfortable edge. It wasn’t just us and them, it was us and her. He felt bad about it now but, by God, she’d given back as good as she got.
‘It feels strange being here without . . .’ Her voice trailed off as she studied the scratched tabletop as though seeing it for the first time.
‘Funny thing is, I always feel her here.’ Dan set the pot on the table, then brought the mugs, milk jug and sugar. ‘It’s why I’ve left the kitchen the way it was.’ He headed back to the fridge, then turned. ‘I missed lunch. Want a sandwich?’
‘No thanks.’
He almost made a crack about carb-free diets but instead dragged bread, lettuce, beetroot and cheese from inside the fridge and collected an avocado and tomato from a bowl on the counter as he passed. She was extremely, fashionably thin, but it made her too gaunt for his taste, which ran to healthy and athletic. Well, almost too gaunt.
He made short work of scooping avocado flesh onto two slices of bread, and layering the other ingredients on top.
‘I can make it without the bread,’ he offered. When she shook her head he topped the built sandwich with the second slice of bread, angled the knife across it and pressed it down with the other palm.
He regarded her thoughtfully, then, ‘So what brings you back?’ He took a big bite, which would allow her to talk and give him an excuse not to.
‘Christmas. I just thought it might be nice . . .’ She looked down at her fingers, aimlessly twisting a ring she wore on her right hand.
He swallowed and eyed her over the mounded sandwich still held near his lips. ‘Really? You might need to try a little harder than that. My bullshit meter is set pretty high these days.’
Her eyes flared, sparking with the haughty blue fire that he remembered. It seemed his body remembered too and he shifted a little in his chair.
She glanced away and chewed her lip, as though mulling over what to say next. When her gaze returned to him the fire had died, replaced by a cool, detached stare.
‘Actually, I had nowhere else to go for Christmas.’
Just as he’d thought, but he could see it had cost her to admit it. ‘So you bought a ticket for Sydney? Why not the Bahamas or New York?’
At the mention of New York she flinched, a stricken expression flickering across her face. ‘If you must know, someone bought me the ticket, but the moment I had it in my hand I wanted to come home.’
She paused, a small smile playing about her lips, as though realising something for the first time. ‘I really, really wanted to come home.’
It seemed that Dan had accepted her explanation. Shelby didn’t want to go into the details of how screwed up her life had become and besides, it was true. She was glad to be home.
She eyed him again as he carried his plate to the sink and ran it under the tap. There was a confidence about him that was incredibly appealing, a natural assurance without any hint of cockiness. It was something he’d obviously found for himself as opposed to the automatic self-belief that Nelson possessed, courtesy of his multi-million dollar trust fund.
Dan was as different to Nelson as it was possible to be. As rugged as Nelson was slick and suave. But even thinking about Nelson was hard right now with Dan’s large male presence so close. It was an intriguing and unexpected outcome, and since tomorrow was Christmas Day and she had no plans, maybe they could find a restaurant and do lunch together. After all, they weren’t strangers.
She fiddled with the empty mug. ‘So, what are you doing tomorrow?’
‘The usual.’ He put the plate in the drainer, turned and leaned back against the sink, folding his arms across his chest.
She cocked a brow. ‘Usual?’
‘Family Christmas,’ he said evenly. ‘Same as always.’
Her jaw dropped. They were all still doing Christmas lunch together? When they no longer had to? ‘You’re kidding.’
He gave her a level look. ‘Why would you say that? Isn’t it what you came home for?’
She clamped her mouth shut against all the things she wanted to say. Like, none of the family were related to each other for a start. They’d all been dragged together from the dysfunctional families the
y’d been born into. They were adults now. They didn’t need to keep up the pretence but Dan looked deadly serious.
‘So you do the whole turkey, glacé fruit and cherry earrings thing, just like when we were kids?’
‘Don’t get too carried away.’ He flashed her a wide smile. ‘Actually, we’ve moved on a little since then. Finished with that?’ He gestured to the mug and she stood and took it to the sink.
‘So who comes?’ She leaned back against the countertop, just as he had done, while beside her he turned to the sink and washed the mug.
‘Everyone’s invited. With partners, husbands and wives. There’s a couple of kids now as well.’
Far out.
‘How many turn up?’ she pressed.
‘Could be twenty, could be ten. Depends. They come or not, everyone brings food, and it all just happens, much as it used to.
‘Anyway, you’ll have made other plans with your friends, so don’t worry. If we’re still going when you get back you’re welcome to join us.’ He started to move away from the sink as though he didn’t care one way or another.
‘Actually . . .’
He turned, his eyes sharpening. ‘You don’t have plans, do you? What about Lauren? Or what was that other girl’s name? Emma?’
She’d called both Lauren and Emma before she’d left LA. Both had been pleased to hear from her before it became apparent she was looking for a Christmas Day invitation. She swallowed and put on a bright face. ‘Away.’
‘Really.’
It was obvious he didn’t believe her. She pushed away from the bench. ‘Look, it’s okay. I’ll just go out for the day.’
The hand that reached out and grabbed her arm was swift but gentle. ‘I didn’t say you couldn’t come, Shelby. I just want you to understand what this day means to us.’
The green eyes sought hers, pressing his meaning home. His grip was reassuring and a slow burn of heat spread through her until she was certain her cheeks were flaming.
‘We mightn’t see each other much during the year,’ he added, ‘but Christmas Day is for family.’
His words underscored her dilemma. They weren’t her family but she didn’t want to be alone, not any more. Finally she nodded. ‘I’d love to be part of it. What can I do to help?’
He released her arm and the warmth dissipated. ‘Everyone provides something but you get a pass if you help me get the place organised. Deal?’
‘Deal.’
‘Let’s get the tree done first. I haven’t had a chance to put it up and the kids will be disappointed if it’s not there.’
He disappeared out the back and a moment later she heard the garage door slam and Dan swear. ‘Grab the door, will you?’
She rushed to open it, holding it wide as Dan fed the tip of a real Christmas tree through then began to follow. Halfway through it stuck and he grunted. ‘Can you pull it from your end?’
Shelby thrust her arms through the pine needles to grab hold of the trunk. Instantly the sharp, fresh scent of pine filled her nostrils. She pulled hard and with a swish of branches the tree was freed. Dan followed, holding the bottom part of its girth, with his face half buried in pine needles.
They’d never had a real tree when she was a child. It was usually so hot at Christmas that it would only last days. Instead there’d been a lurid green foil thing that had to be put together. Hung with glittery baubles, they’d thought it was wonderful.
‘One more,’ he said as they wrestled the tree through the door into the hall.
‘And another.’ Between them they pushed and pulled the tree into the large front living room.
‘Ever think of getting a smaller tree?’ Shelby grunted as she back-stepped across polished floorboards towards a large circular tub by the window.
‘Nah, no fun that way. I like a challenge.’ He set the tree down into the tub. ‘Besides, a small tree would look puny in this room. Can you hold it straight while I grab those rocks?’
She held the tree while he started packing rocks from a bucket into the pot, providing a ballast. It gave her a chance to check out the room. It was almost empty and she wondered whether he’d sold the old furniture or whether it was in storage. There were just two old armchairs draped in soft cream drop cloths and a small table. It wasn’t exactly cosy. She frowned as she looked down at Dan, still packing rocks around the tree, wedging them in as though he were making a dry stone wall that needed to last a century.
‘Haven’t you ever heard of a Christmas tree stand?’
He didn’t look up. ‘I’m trying to get rid of stuff, not collect it.’
Which didn’t make sense. The house was enormous and almost empty so one Christmas tree stand shoved in the back of a cupboard was hardly going to matter.
He stood and gestured for her to step away from the tree, his hands out and ready to grab it if it toppled. When it remained stable, he went back to the kitchen and returned with two large jugs of water and started to empty one into the tub.
‘Okay, if that’s all you need . . .’ Shelby started to move towards the door.
He glanced up and grinned. ‘Whoa. You’re not finished yet. We haven’t decorated it and there’s loads of other stuff to do before tomorrow. You’re a godsend.’
He finished pouring water in the tub then pulled a carton from the side of the room and slid it along the floor until it rested beside the tree. ‘Time for fun. This was always the best part, huh?’
Genuine delight lit his face and Shelby’s mouth dried. He was gorgeous. For just a moment she’d caught in that eager expression a glimpse of the boy he’d been, goofy, gangly and a little spotty, and it wrenched at her heart. But it was the man he’d become that made her body tingle with awareness. Just being with him was unsettling.
Shelby opened the box and her breath caught. These weren’t glittery, expensive decorations like those she’d seen on trees in the States, elaborately colour-coordinated in all silver, white or gold, each bauble hung with precision to create the perfect tree. She rolled a chair over and sat with the box in front of her as she sorted through the contents.
The ragtag collection was the story of every Christmas since she was a small child. On top was one of the original twelve multi-coloured gilt balls they’d had when her father had still been alive, back when there was just the three of them: Mum, Dad and Shelby. She curved her hand over it, remembering how she’d cried the first time one had been broken by Gary hurling it at Sharon. Only this one had survived the years.
Somewhere along the line they’d acquired frosted glass bells, but most of the decorations were homemade. Dozens of matchboxes wrapped in red paper and tied with ribbon, like miniature presents, had been made by the kids one year around the kitchen table. There were ratty old bits of tinsel in all colours and plastic-wrapped candy canes. She held one up, grimacing. ‘Tell me these aren’t the originals?’
‘Yep. The original and the best.’
‘God, they must be toxic by now.’ She dropped it with a show of mock horror.
Kate had encouraged them to make decorations from anything on hand, and there were tiny cardboard skateboards and surfboards covered in glitter and an old domino set with holes in it, strung together with gold ribbon.
Shelby picked up another decoration and a small tear moistened the corner of her eye. She dropped her head and swiped at her eyes with the heel of her hand. Maybe she was jetlagged or plain overemotional but this was crazy. She was not going to cry, not over stupid Christmas decorations.
Dan dropped to his haunches in front of her and pulled the bauble gently from her hand. It felt good to let it go, as though he was taking more from her than just the decoration. She let some of the pain go with it, focussing on how his large hand wrapped carefully around the ball as if he cherished it as much as she did, before he placed it back in the box and pushed it aside. A long, breathless pause hung between them, a moment of possibility and strange longing. But for what? She shook her head and swiped at her face again, then lifted her
gaze to meet his. Next to the dense pine green of the tree, his eyes were warm, almost gold.
He held out a hand and gently pulled her to her feet. ‘C’mon, Shelby, I need your help with this. We’ve got a lot to get through tonight.’
For the first time since she’d left Sydney all those years ago, she felt like she wasn’t alone.
CHAPTER FOUR
Dan kept it light. He’d been shocked by Shelby’s tears, the way she’d so easily dissolved over a box of crappy old Christmas decorations. It wasn’t the Shelby of old, brittle and careless with her words. Something had changed in her, as though there was an empty space, a gnawing hunger that needed nourishment.
They hung the decorations with no particular sense of order. It was kind of fun to be doing it together, circling the tree with Shelby on the other side then standing back to look for an empty space that needed one more tatty candy cane.
Next year would be wildly different. He didn’t know what it held yet so he’d wanted, this last time, to do a real tree. A big, sweeping tree worthy of Frangipani House.
When it was done, when not one piece of tinsel or bauble remained in the box, they retreated to the other side of the room and eyed their handiwork.
‘Gaudy, huh?’ Dan murmured.
‘I love it.’ Shelby sighed. ‘It’s wonderful.’
He let his gaze rest on her profile as she stood beside him in rapt contemplation of the tree, as though she were seeing Christmases past. Her face was perfection with the long sweep of the nose, high cheekbones and perfect skin. Just as he had at sixteen he wished he could reach out and touch her, trace his finger lightly down her face, then lean in and . . . No. He shook his head. Going too far, pal.
‘Penny?’
After a long moment she turned to him. ‘I can’t believe I’m here. It happened so quickly.’ She seemed to reach a decision. ‘Confession time. You know how I said that the ticket was bought for me?’
A Kirribilli Christmas Page 2