by Trish Morey
“This is a family show, Caleb,” she warned, keeping her voice low, as she resumed her work on his face, his forehead this time. “There are children present.”
“I know. That’s not why I wanted to see you, anyway.” He sucked in a breath, shifted his voice lower. “I was hoping we could talk some time later. Maybe I could drop by your place, or you could come to my place and I’ll fix us something to eat.”
“Call out for pizza, you mean?” she scoffed, hard at work on his cheek.
“Like I said, I’ll fix us something to eat.”
He heard a ripple of laughter coming from somewhere behind him and figured one of the mums in the queue must have overheard and enjoyed his joke. “Okay, you’re done,” she said, with a decisive dab of her brush, a final full stop to her work, “I’ll meet you at your place. If you still want me to come, that is. You can open your eyes now.”
He blinked, wondering why she’d qualify her agreement while his eyes took a moment to adjust to the bright daylight. Of course he wanted her to come.
She handed him the mirror. “Take a look.”
He took the mirror and lifted it to his face, and blinked again. Because what used to be his face was now a sea of pink and white and sparkles. Sparkles?
“You gave me sparkles?” And on his cheek was a dark splotch of pink with what looked like eyes. He angled the mirror to look closer at the abomination. “What the hell is that?”
And a little girl’s voice cried, “It’s Peppa Pig!” And the ripples of laughter around him grew louder.
He looked at Ava, aghast. “I thought at least you were going to make me into some kind of superhero.”
“Oh, ask anyone in this line and I think you’ll find she is,” she said, as she wiped her hands on a cloth, and, damn her to hell and back, but she was enjoying this. “Maybe next time you should be more specific.”
“But—”
“Off you go, Peppa Pig, I’ve got customers waiting.”
“I want to be Peppa Pig too,” said the little girl up next to her mum. “Ple-ease!”
“And me,” said another.
It didn’t matter how many little girls wanted to look just like him, it was like the walk of shame going back to the barbeque, there was no way he could hide so much sparkles and pink, no way he didn’t draw the attention of every person going by.
“About time you got back,” Richo said, his back to him, busy juggling tongs and a slide. “It’s gone bloody gangbusters since you left.” He turned to pass Caleb the tongs, took one look at his face and cracked up. “What the fuck happened to you? You look like some kind of nightmare on pink street.”
He pointed to his cheek. “This is Peppa Pig, if you don’t mind. Apparently some kind of superhero. Apparently.”
Richo just guffawed. “Has Dylan got wind of this yet?” Richo had been on the Hazmat course Dylan had given the week he’d arrived and Caleb was always a bit wary about the easy rapport he seemed to share with his brother.
“Nope, and I’d really prefer he—”
Quick as a flash, Richo pulled out his phone and snapped off a couple of shots before Caleb could finish what he was saying, let alone get his hands in front of his face, his so called mate already thumbing his way onto social media. “He’s sure going to. As will everyone else at the station. This one’s going straight to the pool room!”
Bloody hell. Caleb was never going to live this down. But at least as he went back to wielding the tongs on the sausage sizzle, he knew he hadn’t blown it completely. He was going to see Ava again. The humiliation was almost worth it.
His phone beeped and he checked the screen and saw incoming from his brother. A single word.
BAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
And Caleb pocketed his phone and sighed. Yeah, almost worth it.
Chapter Six
His place wasn’t much, just a modest nineteen sixties red brick two-bedroom unit in a group of four just down on the suburbs at the foot of the hills, but after his divorce and Angie getting the house, he hadn’t been left with a whole lot of money for anything fancier. It had taken a while to get over the move into a smaller space, but now he appreciated how much better it suited him. He was close to his station and the spare bedroom was big enough to house his bench press along with his various fitness bikes, for when he wanted a fast ride through the suburbs down to the beach and back, or a tough ride through on a cross country track through the hills.
And the bonus was, there was nobody to complain whatever he chose.
Now he had his favourite album – Californication – playing softly on the stereo. He’d picked a sprig of flowers off the tree out back by the carport that was sitting in a glass of water – Angie had taken all the vases – and the dinner he’d picked up ready and waiting. By the time he heard her small hatchback pull up in the visitor park outside, he had a knot the size of Tasmania in his gut.
For despite the playful banter between them today at the show, things had changed between them lately, he knew.
And it wasn’t just because of that phone call last night. All that had done was draw an underline under what he already knew. Things were different now.
Even the night of the crash, he’d sensed something was wrong. Sure they’d made love, but Ava had seemed withdrawn and on edge and he had a feeling it wasn’t just about the painting that was giving her grief.
He met her at the door. “You washed your face,” she said, as she stepped inside.
“Reluctantly,” he lied, as he reached down to kiss her. She turned her face at the last moment – intentionally? – and his lips brushed against her cheek and he knew he had a lot of ground to make up.
“Thai?” she said, sniffing the air appreciatively as she headed for the table, looping her bag over the back of the chair.
“I lied about the pizza. Hope you’re not disappointed.”
“And flowers too,” she said, noticing his feeble attempt at table decoration. “I love frangipani flowers,” she said, lifting the glass and inhaling deeply the scent of the yellow and white flowers. “So bold and beautiful.” He watched as she traced the petals with the tip of one finger. “I tried once, but they won’t grow up in the hills where I am.”
“Take it. There’s a whole tree out back covered in flowers if you want.”
She smiled then, as she thanked him and sat down, but it was a low wattage smile, measured like it was being rationed, and that failed to brighten his mood, and he decided there was nothing for it but to come right out and tell her what he’d wanted to ever since he’d realised he’d been such a complete jerk.
“Look, Ava,” he said, as they sat down at his small table for two with the phad thai and red duck curry and steamed rice sitting between them, like it was just like any other night, when clearly it wasn’t. Things had changed, and it made him nervous and more conscious than ever of not stuffing tonight up too. “I want to apologise for coming across so heavy-handed last night. You were right; I was coming from a different place. I should never have assumed your situation was the same or that your feelings might mirror my own. It was wrong of me to assume, and to badger you that way, and all I did was upset you more. I’m sorry.”
She nodded. Her answering smile tweaking the corners of her lip, though not enough to make him relax. “Thank you. I’m sorry too, that our night had to end that way. But, it’s done.”
As easily as that? He watched her spoon rice and curry onto her plate, wondering at her ability to shut down a conversation, to not let him get close to understanding as they made small talk about the food, the spices, and the wine. This bloody dance they were doing. Knowing but not knowing. Lovers sharing bodies but not minds.
It was killing him that she kept the barricades up, that she wouldn’t let him in. That she stepped a foot back if he stepped so much as an inch forward.
Should he tell her he cared, and that maybe if she only shared what it was that was troubling her, that he might be able to help? Would she open up or would she close
the door on their not-quite-a-relationship altogether?
There was only one way to find out, but knowing it might mean the end held him in check. Then again, she was here, tonight, and surely that meant something. So in the end he bit his tongue and chased curry and noodles around his plate, only half tasting the food.
When it had all turned to custard with Angie, when things had changed, he hadn’t fought it. He’d been just as guilty in their breakup and he’d let it slide. He hadn’t cared enough to save it.
He cared about losing Ava, though. Maybe because one year of casual hookups wasn’t anywhere near long enough to have had enough of her. His marriage had soured in the space of two. Maybe the novelty took longer to wear off when you didn’t live with someone day after day, although he couldn’t imagine ever getting sick of waking up to this woman.
“That was delicious, thank you,” said Ava, putting down her fork and leaning back in her chair.
He smiled tightly. At least he hadn’t managed to stuff up dinner. “Least I could do. Anything you’d like to do now?” he said, collecting dishes to rinse in the sink. “Watch a movie or maybe go for a walk?” He had the distinct impression she wasn’t looking for sex.
“Neither. Caleb, forget the dishes. Come and sit back down. We need to talk.”
A cannonball lodged in his gut. He turned to face her, to try to read her. She was so composed. Eerily composed. It was almost like she had an aura around her tonight, or a layer of armour plating that he couldn’t breach.
He sat down opposite her. “I’m listening.”
“What we have,” she started, “this thing between us, is special. I know I can call on you and you can call on me, and if it suits”—she shrugged—“well, then we can get together and it’s good.”
“Better than good,” he said, already not liking the way this conversation was heading.
She nodded. “Better than good, true. But what we have, it’s also fragile. It is what it is. It can’t be more than that, it can’t be bigger, or it will shatter. And, just lately, I’ve been worried.” She took a breath and Caleb held his. “I never thought that we might still be seeing each other after a year. And I wondered...” Her eyes glowed softly in the light. Sadly. “Lately, I’ve been wondering if one year was too long.”
Air hissed through his teeth. “Is that why you came tonight. To tell me we’re finished?”
She reached across the table and took his hand and laced her fingers through his. “No. Because I thought about it, and I’m not ready for it to end yet. I’m selfish and I’m not ready to pop this fragile bubble that we share. Not if we don’t have to.” She squeezed his fingers. “Do you understand?”
His head was spinning from the sudden change of direction, relief coming so close after the sucker punch of thinking she was ending it. He nodded as he drank in her perfect features, eyes the colour of liqueur brandy lit by firelight, a nose with just the right amount of kink to make it more real, more perfect, and a full mouth that could switch from sweet to sinful in an instant, and he knew he wasn’t ready to lose her. One year with this woman was nowhere near enough.
“You want things to stay exactly the way they are.”
“Yes. And I want us to stay the way we are, two individual people who meet up occasionally for mutual pleasure, whether that be sex or a meal or both, nothing more. And I realise I’m guilty of blurring the lines too. Getting you to pose for me – mixing pleasure with business – I realise that was a mistake.” She nodded. “But if this thing between us is to continue, that’s how it has to work. That’s all it can ever be. Agreed?”
Caleb wasn’t a man who was used to being dictated to. Angie had tried that – Angie of the complaints about his shift work and demands for him to spend more time with her, and in the end, Angie of the ultimatum – the job or her, and look where that had got her? But he also knew that a man would have to be a fool to say no to Ava, whatever her demands. A man would have to be a fool to argue that it wasn’t enough, that he wanted more, that he wanted to crack the door open and be let inside her world, because he then would lose her entirely, while at least this way, he would have part of her, for however long it lasted.
And never before had he been so sorely tempted to agree with anyone. His fingers clenched and unclenched while his mind battled with the insoluble dilemma.
Because he also knew that a man would also be a fool not to acknowledge that just having Ava wasn’t enough. That he wanted her on his terms too, not only within the confines of the strict boundaries on which she insisted.
His voice, when it came, was mired in the agony of a difficult choice. “No.”
“What?”
“I said, no,” he repeated, feeling stronger for it, knowing he was being honest with himself and with her. “I don’t agree.”
“But that’s the way it has to be. That’s what we agreed, remember? That’s what we both wanted.”
“Sure, that’s exactly what I had wanted – then. But that was a year ago. Now, like it or not, agreement or not, I want more.”
Her eyes were wide, cognac-coloured pools of disbelief. “You can’t mean that. I thought—”
And suddenly he couldn’t sit any more. He sprang up from the table, pacing into the kitchen and back. “You thought I’d be happy being put back in my box, being brought out on special occasions or when it suited you? You thought I’d accept your crazy conditions without questioning them? This is killing me, Ava. I can’t go on this way. I don’t understand why we have to. We know each other enough by now to know we’re good together, so why do we have to put limitations on it?”
She blinked up at him. “I can’t...”
“You can’t, or you won’t?”
“I...” she said, getting to her feet, the chair scraping across the wooden floor, the discordant sound in tune with his jarred senses. She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I should go.”
“You don’t have to. This doesn’t have to be the end. Not unless that’s what you want – what you really want.”
She collected her bag and cradled it in her arms against her chest. “You don’t give me much choice.”
He growled out a sigh as he raked his fingers through his short hair. “Don’t put this back on me. Think about it, Ava. I’ll give you space and time and you can think on it. Think about us.”
“Thank you for dinner,” was all she said, as she headed for her car.
He collected the flowers from the glass, adding another couple of sprigs freshly picked from the tree, and met her at her car.
“Thank you,” she said, once again putting the flowers to her face and breathing in the heady fragrance.
“You’re not too tired to drive?”
She smiled wearily as she placed the flowers on the passenger seat. “It’s not far. Goodbye.”
And then he watched the taillights of her hatchback disappear down the street, wondering if tonight was their last together. One year ago today, give or take, they’d got together and damned near combusted when they had. One year later and they hadn’t even kissed. Talk about a lousy anniversary.
He rubbed the back of his neck as he headed back inside and smelt the scent of the frangipani on his hands and thought about the lonely nights stretching out before him with no Ava in his life.
But then, she’d never really been there.
Ava never saw it coming.
She’d felt drained as she drove away. Totally exhausted. After barely sleeping last night and working all today in the sun at the show, it had taken every last shred of energy she’d possessed to be able to hold her nerve with Caleb.
And, for a moment there, after she’d laid out the ground rules, she’d almost sworn that he was on the same page, and that she’d secured his agreement. But then he’d turned the tables on her, and suddenly he’d been the one calling the shots.
Why had he done that, when he knew what would have to happen?
Why had he insisted it wasn’t enough, when it was all it could ever be?
Sure, she’d been as much to blame for letting Caleb get too close. Those sketches had blurred the lines between them, smudging the boundaries just as she smudged the images of him in charcoal on the page. She’d let her excitement for the collection rule her head.
Stupid.
But she’d expected him to understand. She’d expected him to back off. All tonight was supposed to be was a timely reminder of the boundaries. A circuit breaker, that was all.
She hadn’t expected him to be the one to pull the pin on their affair.
“Think about it,” he’d said, when there was nothing to think about. She’d learned something since that naïve girl of sixteen and her equally stupid twenty-year-old self. She’d learned to take care of herself and her career. She’d learned to take control of her own destiny.
And nobody was taking that away from her ever again.
The narrow ribbon of road followed the creek bed, wending its way through the sparsely populated valley floor. Soon she’d be home and she could crawl into her bed. She felt sleep tugging at her now, weighing down her eyelids. Not long to go. She rounded a bend, confused to see two glowing lights ahead where there should be none. She was almost upon them when she realised and she slammed her foot on the brake, all the gear that she’d taken to the show, the paints and chairs and umbrella that she hadn’t bothered to unpack yet, crashing into the back of her seat with the sudden deceleration.
The car skidded to a stop, just inches short of the beast. The kangaroo jerked upright, looking confused, the spell the headlights had held it in broken, before it turned its head and bounded gracefully away, disappearing into the bush at the edge of the road.
She rested there with her head on the steering wheel a few moments, while she caught her breath and her thudding heart slipped from her throat back into her chest. Then she glanced over at the tangled mess of her gear behind her. There was a job for tomorrow, but it could have been a lot worse. At least she hadn’t hit it. At least they were both okay. She put the car into gear, scanning the surroundings as best she could, to make sure the kangaroo or any of its friends wasn’t sitting there, waiting to jump out and scare the living daylights out of her again, and slowly drove home.