‘No.’ He shakes his head. ‘It’s not always good to know the truth. Especially with my parents.’
I hadn’t thought of that. ‘Oh, Dillon.’
‘People lie to yer face every day, ya have no idea.’ He looks weary all of a sudden.
‘I’ve witnessed how fake people are,’ I tell him. ‘When they don’t think anyone’s watching.’
‘Not like me ya haven’t,’ Dillon says. ‘I had a girlfriend one time. The minute she wasn’t into it I could see it in her eyes.’ He shudders. ‘It was pure wrong. To see someone acting like they loved ya, when really they didn’t give a toss.’
Now I understand. ‘That’s why you’re no one’s boyfriend.’
Dillon looks down at me. ‘But maybe—’
I open my mouth to ask ‘maybe what?’ but shut it again when I realise it would be a question. Dillon sees my struggle and smiles gently.
‘Maybe I’m not supposed to be someone’s boyfriend,’ he tells me. ‘Maybe I’m supposed to be more.’
Warmth spreads through my body as he looks into my eyes. I can’t handle it, so I curl up against him and bury my face into him. ‘Sing for me?’
Dillon takes a corner of the quilt and throws it across us. Then he lies back, puts his arms around me and sings in a language I’ve never heard before. I swear he’s bewitched a lullaby because before long, my eyelids are heavy and I’m drifting off to sleep.
CHAPTER
29
It’s Dillon, I think as I wake up. Dillon is my true love.
He’s not lying in bed next to me when I wake, but I don’t expect him to be; he’ll be smoking his one cigarette for the day, watching me. It’s strange how already I love this about us. We have a tradition after only sleeping in the same bed three times. I roll over, idly, to catch him at the window, I’ve got my disapproving comment prepared, but Dillon’s not there. I sit up, searching the room. He’s got to be here someplace.
But the room is empty.
There is a tap on my door. I sigh with relief. Maybe he’s bringing me breakfast!
‘Come in!’ I call.
Tom’s head pokes through the door. Holy crap. Thank god Dillon’s not here! He must have sneaked out before anyone could catch him. Clever boy.
‘Hey, sleepy bird, you going to get up anytime soon?’ he says. ‘Thought we could take a walk or something?’
‘Yeah, um, maybe.’ What should I say? Should I tell him about Dillon? No. Too soon. I need to get my head together first. ‘Sorry. Just woke up.’
‘That’s okay.’ Tom walks over. I see him taking in the bed, not properly slept in. And suddenly I remember I’m in Dillon’s shirt. I whip the quilt up to my chin.
Tom laughs. ‘I don’t think I’ve seen you modest before.’
I laugh an unnatural chortle I hope he doesn’t notice is false.
Tom perches on the edge of my bed and rests his hand on my knee. ‘I wanted to say thanks for last night. For saying you’d give us another chance, for the kiss …’
‘I didn’t say I’d give us another chance.’
‘No. Sorry. I mean, that you were thinking about us. You haven’t ruled me out.’ Tom glances down at my neck. His expression falters. I bite my lip. God, I hope Dillon didn’t give me a hickie or something. No. I’m sure we both just fell asleep. I’m certain of it.
Tom is frowning. ‘You haven’t ruled me out, have you?’
‘No!’ I say quickly. ‘Look, maybe we should talk later. Give me a chance to dress, brush my teeth. My breath, urgh, it’s stinky.’
His eyes haven’t left my shoulder area. Has the quilt slipped? I try to pull it higher without drawing more attention to it.
‘Yeah, okay,’ Tom says, getting to his feet. He backs away looking unhappier than when he came in. ‘Everything’s fine though, right?’
‘Yeah. Of course. I’ll see you downstairs,’ I say, clutching the quilt in my bunched fists. ‘I bet they put on quite a breakfast.’
‘Yeah. Yeah, they do. See you in a bit.’ Tom shuts the door.
‘Cac.’ I sigh, collapsing forward and releasing the cover. Thank god he’s gone!
The door swings open too fast for me to move. ‘Sorry, I forgot—’ Tom stops, his eyes narrow. ‘Is that Dillon’s shirt?’
I look down at myself. ‘Is it? I don’t think so.’
‘Olive. I saw it on him yesterday. Couldn’t miss the irony. Superman?’
‘I think that’s the point.’
‘You’re defending him,’ Tom says, like it’s a crime or something. ‘Did he stay here?’ He shuts his eyes. ‘Of course he did.’
‘We just talked, honestly.’
‘In his shirt?’
‘I don’t have any other clothes!’
‘That’s comforting.’ He scowls at the shirt. ‘What is so great about being Irish anyway? Drunk potato-eating leprechauns.’
‘Hey! I’m Irish. And proud of it.’
‘Well I’m sure you both got lucky last night.’
Jealousy is causing this meanness, I know that. But I don’t like it. ‘I need to spend time with both of you to figure this out. You’ve got a huge advantage. I’ve known you for years. I’ve only known Dillon a few days.’
‘So I just have to wait around while you go at it?’
‘We’re not “going at” anything—we just talked!’
‘And I’m supposed to just believe that?’
‘Yes!’
‘With you, in bed, in his shirt?’
He’s really ticking me off now. ‘I’m starting to remember what was wrong with us. You don’t listen to me.’
‘I’m starting to remember too—you don’t give a shit about me.’ He walks out. Slams the door.
‘That settles it,’ I hiss at the door after him. ‘It is so Dillon!’ Then I collapse against the mattress and cry. How can I love and hate someone so much at the same time?
A few minutes later there’s another knock on my door. ‘What!’ I yell.
‘Pardon me for disturbing you, Olive.’ It’s Simon. I never thought I’d be relieved to hear his voice.
I go to the door and open it a fraction. ‘Hi.’
Simon looks nervous. ‘I just saw Tom—he’s taken off to town looking rather miffed—and I was worried about you. I would have sent Prue or Jordan but they left to go shopping a while ago, I’m afraid.’
‘Thanks, Simon, but I’ll be okay.’
He tips his head. ‘The situation must be difficult. Jordan has told me a little of it’—he looks abashed—‘but I’m sure you don’t want to discuss it with the likes of me.’
‘I’m not sure you could handle the drama, Si.’
‘Well I hope Dillon didn’t upset you before he left.’
‘Dillon left?’
‘Huntley said he attached the panniers.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘The bags either side of his motorbike,’ Simon tells me. ‘He usually does that when he’s taking off for a while. Sometimes we don’t see him for weeks.’
‘Oh.’
I feel like the world is shifting under my feet. Like the continents have upped from their beds on the earth’s core and are marching away. What went wrong? Was it the commitment? What a coward.
‘Felix is here though,’ Simon goes on. ‘We thought maybe you’d like to take a stroll around the grounds?’
‘Yeah,’ I say, surprising myself as much as Simon. ‘That sounds nice. Thanks.’
Felix and Simon are waiting for me in the rose garden after breakfast. I doubt walking around Shewthrop is going to make me feel better but I want to be there for Felix if he needs me. And I refuse to let that betraying Irishman ruin everything.
Felix holds out a rose for me to smell. ‘Take a whiff of this. It’s worth three million dollars.’
‘To develop,’ Simon corrects him. ‘It’s a Juliet variety. Lady Braxshont gave it to my mother.’
I take a sniff. ‘It’s gorgeous.’
‘It’s all yours,’ say
s Simon.
‘Thanks.’ I tuck the rose into a buttonhole on my coat. ‘I’ll wear it so you can smell where I am, bub.’
Felix smirks. ‘I can already smell where you are.’
Huh. Maybe I do need to wash the jacket.
‘Is it pretty?’ Felix asks. ‘Good for a wedding?’
‘Mother would be delighted if you used Shewthrop flowers for the wedding,’ says Simon. ‘Where are you thinking of holding it?’
Felix makes an awkward sort of face. ‘We were kind of hoping we could have the wedding here.’
‘Terrific!’ says Simon. ‘In the chapel at the north-east corner of the house?’
‘You have a chapel in your house?’ I roll my eyes at nobody. ‘Sorry, stupid question.’
‘When will you do it?’ Simon asks.
Felix bites his lip. ‘This New Year’s Eve …?’
This New Year’s Eve!
Both Simon and I talk at once. ‘I’m supposed to be in New York with Jordan!’
‘What about my parents?’
‘Yes!’ I say, realising that’s a much more persuasive argument. ‘What about his parents?’
‘I don’t know, it was Prue’s suggestion. She wants something small and we just thought, everyone we care about from Australia is here apart from my mum. So if we just flew her out next week, it would be easy.’
‘Easy, maybe. Fun, no,’ I say.
‘Well I think it sounds delightful,’ Simon says.
‘Thank you, Simon. I’m glad someone is supportive.’
‘Urgghhhh,’ I say, snapping up Felix’s arm. ‘Fine. I’ll be there.’
It is nice to walk around Shewthrop with Simon and Felix. You can tell Simon’s proud of his home in a way that’s respectful of its history rather than boastful. It’s strange. If this was my dad’s house, I’d be all ‘check out my helipad, suckers!’ But Simon is modest and humble.
‘The stables are seventeenth century,’ he tells us as we walk towards the grey stone outhouses. ‘Are you fond of horses, Olive?’
I clap my hands with glee. ‘Can I ride one every day? Can I?’ I would make a perfect spoiled princess.
Simon laughs. ‘If you wish. I’ve got just the horse for you, her name is Beauty.’
‘Are you flirting with me? Is that really the horse’s name or can you see how beautiful I am?’
Simon blushes. ‘No, honestly, that’s the filly’s name. Prue named her.’
‘I’m joking, Simon. Joking.’
‘Would either of you care for a ride now?’ Simon asks. I like how naturally he includes Felix, like blindness isn’t a constraint.
‘I’ve never ridden a horse,’ Felix says.
‘Me neither but it can’t be harder than riding a surfboard,’ I point out.
‘Yeah, that was a real success,’ Felix says and we laugh at the memory of riding Tom’s long board together.
‘The horses are very well behaved. You’ll be fine,’ Simon tells us, striding on ahead. ‘I’ll go and inform the groom.’
‘Are you okay, Ol?’ Felix asks as we slowly follow Simon towards the stables. ‘Before Tom stormed off he told me Dillon stayed with you last night. He was pretty upset.’
‘Bloody Tom,’ I mutter. ‘He broke up with me, remember? He didn’t want to be with me—and now that someone else can see me, he’s interested again.’
‘I don’t think that’s exactly right.’
‘Really.’
‘Really. This whole thing—it’s been hard on him.’
‘I know he’s been seeing other girls, Lix.’
‘Seeing them, sure, but nothing more.’
‘As in …?’
‘Tom believes the curse, Olive.’ Felix grips my arm. ‘He believes you’re his true love because he can see you. He can’t move past it and imagine a future with anyone else. So he’s stuck.’
My heart sinks. Oh god. Felix is right. The curse is infectious. Tom can’t move on as long as he thinks I’m his true love. The poor guy doesn’t stand a chance.
‘What am I going to do?’
Felix shrugs. ‘Go horse riding with me till you figure it out?’
‘A capital plan,’ I say, helping him towards the stables.
Beauty is glossy black with her tail and mane plaited in some perplexing manner only the poshest of grooms would bother to master. I mount her and sit stroking her silken neck as Simon gives Felix a few pointers.
‘Did Prue name Beauty after Black Beauty?’ I ask Simon as he swings into the saddle of his own horse, an elegant chestnut stallion. ‘That’s a great book.’
‘Yes. One does appreciate the cultural verisimilitude.’
I have no idea what he’s talking about but I can’t have Simon out-garble me so I reply, ‘One does. Doesn’t one.’
Felix snickers at me so I hiss at him to shut up as our horses follow Simon’s out into the field. I appreciate the term ‘bracing’ right now. I don’t mind the cold air at all. The sky is gloomy but the grass is wildly green. It looks so delicious I want to scoop it up by the handful and devour it.
‘Think you can manage a canter?’ Simon calls back.
‘Sure,’ Felix replies.
‘Absolutely!’ I cry.
Simon nudges his stallion on, and our horses follow. It takes a while to get used to the new gait but after a while it’s okay, easy even. My horse edges to overtake Felix’s.
‘Go Beauty.’ I egg her on. ‘I’m coming to get you, Blindy!’ I call out.
‘No way!’ Felix digs his heels into his horse which spurs it on. And we’re racing. I yee-ha like a cowgirl, glancing over at Felix grinning like an idiot as he clings to his horse’s mane.
‘I hope my horse knows where it’s going!’ Felix calls out as we catch up to Simon.
‘You’ll be fine,’ I call back. ‘Apart from that fence up ahead … Do you know how to jump?’
‘You better be joking!’
‘She is,’ Simon calls over, but he’s smiling at me. Well, my direction anyway.
‘You’re having fun!’ I accuse him.
‘To be frank with you, it’s just good to know where you are!’
It makes me laugh manically. ‘Well hold on to your horse because my colonial ass is going to kick your noble butt.’
Simon leans forward in his saddle and surges away. ‘In your dreams, convict. Tally-ho!’
CHAPTER
30
Later that day I find Tom and Felix reading in the drawing room. It’s a cosy room with red velvet curtains and soft lighting. The boys are in leather armchairs with their feet up on leather stools, a crackling open fire warming their toes. Prue’s aristocratic ancestors stare down at them in oil paints. My first instinct is to run. I don’t know what to say to Tom but I can’t avoid him forever.
‘You guys look like true blue-bloods,’ I say. ‘Shall I fetch you both a brandy?’
Tom looks up at me but doesn’t smile.
I go and ruffle Felix’s hair. ‘You’ve done well for yourself, bub. You should see this place. You know you’re filthy rich when you’ve been painted in oils.’
Felix frowns at me. ‘I’m not with Prue for the money.’
‘I know,’ I say, because I do. Felix really wouldn’t care about the cash. ‘Do you want to play chess? They’re sure to have a board in here someplace.’ I walk over to a mahogany sideboard lined with framed photographs, family snaps. One is taken under a huge Christmas tree; the Earl and Lady Wroxden, Simon, Prue—and their ward, the trouble-making cousin, Dillon. He couldn’t be more than twelve years old.
There are more photos of him, and in every one he’s smiling like a prankster. In every one, the smile is missing from his eyes. It’s not the Dillon I know.
Felix gets to his feet. ‘Actually, I think I’ll give you two some space.’
‘Don’t be stupid,’ I say at the same time Tom says, ‘Thanks, mate.’
Damn. This is so awkward.
‘Do you want to talk, Tom?’ I say as Felix taps
out of the room with his cane.
‘Don’t you?’
‘Yeah. I guess we should.’
Tom gets up, grabbing a bag beside him. ‘Let’s sit over here,’ he says, motioning to a faded green velvet couch that looks like it could swallow us up. ‘I have some things for you.’
I don’t know how to be with Tom. I think I’ve chosen Dillon. But seeing Tom now, and feeling how my body craves to sit close to him, I’m so confused and I’m totally crushing on him again.
‘What have you got there?’ I say, sitting down and hugging my legs to my chest to stop myself from crawling into his lap.
‘Christmas presents.’ Tom pulls out two gift-wrapped parcels. ‘From Rose and your dad.’
‘Yay!’ I take them and start unwrapping.
‘You don’t want to wait until Christmas?’
‘No way.’ I rip the wrapping paper off a small rectangular package and pull out a journal and a gold fountain pen. ‘Exactly what I need! These are so lush to write with.’
I read the card from Rose. Because I know you’ll have adventures you won’t want to forget.
‘Aw. So precious.’
Dad has sent me a pair of leather gloves. So you don’t have to clean your fingernails even when Tom’s there.
I chuckle. ‘I have the best family.’
‘You do.’ Tom dips his hand in the bag and pulls out another gift. ‘This one is from my mum.’
‘Your mum got me a present?’
‘Just something small,’ Tom says, as if that’s the point.
I unwrap the pink tissue paper, trying to act normal. It’s one of those expensive hand creams that smell delicious.
‘She said something about it being useful in the cold weather, I don’t know.’ Tom is blushing, he knows it’s a big deal.
‘I love it. Please tell her I said thank you.’
He nods his head and swallows. There is an awkward moment where neither of us knows what to say.
‘Here.’ I unscrew the lid of the hand cream and squeeze a worm of it onto my hand, then I pick up Tom’s hands and entwine our fingers together, rubbing the greasy cream into his skin.
‘That’s nice,’ he says as I knead my thumbs into his palm. ‘I’m not sure it’s what Mum had in mind though.’ He chuckles.
The Implausible Story of Olive Far Far Away Page 20