David got in the front and fished about under his seat. ‘If we’re going to be formal I’ll be needing this,’ he said, holding up a black cap before putting it on.
The girls packed up laughing.
David made a show of putting on his sunglasses and looking over them at Bernadette and Claire in the rear vision mirror and saying, ‘Right ladies, are we all ready to go?’
‘Yes, yes, get on with it,’ they yelled through fits of giggling.
There was a collective gasp as the car rounded the bend in the driveway of the first property. It truly lived up to the headline. David brought the car to a halt on the white gravel turnaround next to a Bermuda blue BMW four-wheel drive.
‘Now wait, you two,’ David instructed. ‘Let’s do this properly – except without the hat; I don’t want to look like a complete moron.’
Claire stared at the whitewashed cottage and front garden with its deep purple picket fence and masses of multicoloured roses tumbling over and poking through it. She told herself not to get her hopes up too much, but had to admit she had already fallen in love. It was a struggle to snap out of her daze when David opened her door.
Bernadette giggled like a schoolgirl while she waited for David to come around to her side.
The real estate agent was standing at the front door, armed with clipboard and brochures and an amused smirk.
As David and Bernadette approached him, Claire hung back, pretending to cast a critical eye over the house, but really taking the time to instruct herself not to fall at the agent’s feet and beg for it to be hers. It’s probably awful inside and completely unsuitable, she told herself, continuing the silent mantra as she made her way up the gorgeous rustic red-brick paved path.
But the house couldn’t have been more perfect. Each room was lovelier and more light-filled than the last. Remembering rule number one of buying a house – never look too interested – Claire remained mute, twisting her features into different configurations of scepticism and disinterest. She was aware of David asking questions and making lots of notes. Thank goodness someone was, she thought vaguely as she continued wandering through the house.
Back in the car, David and Bernadette chattered around her about this feature and that, the colours of the various rooms.
‘How about the size of that bath?’ Bernie said. ‘The tiles are a little dated, but I could live with that to have a big claw-footed tub to soak in.’
‘Hmm. What about the kitchen?’ David said, sounding dreamy.
‘The ceilings were nice and high, and I didn’t notice any rising damp,’ Bernie continued.
‘I liked that they left the bedrooms carpeted. I love bare floorboards but they’re too cold in winter. And decent floor rugs cost a fortune.’
‘It’s the best of both worlds. I love the deep honey colour of authentic old pine. It’s so much nicer than what you get now.’
‘It’s all laminated floating floors these days. Ever notice how they sound like hard plastic underfoot?’
‘Mmm. I liked the built-in bookshelves either side of the fireplace, too.’
‘Except for the fact it’ll save a trip to Ikea.’ David laughed. Bernie joined in. Suddenly they stopped and looked at Claire.
‘Well Claire, what do you think?’ Bernadette demanded.
Claire was having trouble remembering the details. All she knew was that she’d liked it from the moment she’d walked in, right to when they’d walked out. It just felt right. ‘Well I…’
‘Yes?’
‘I know I shouldn’t, but I absolutely love it! It’s perfect! It’s silly, but I don’t even want to look at any more. I want this one!’
‘I know what you mean,’ David said with a sigh. ‘And I agree it does seem rather ideal. It’s not too big but not too small. The rooms are a good size. The price is even in your ballpark.’
‘Well I think we should be sensible – stick with our plan and if at the end it’s still the one, then that’ll be that,’ Bernadette said.
‘If it’s meant to be, it will be,’ David and Bernadette chanted together, and then laughed at their synchronicity.
‘Oh great, you’re both as bad as each other,’ Claire groaned. ‘Come on then, let’s get going before I leap out and manhandle that agent.’ She tried to sound jovial, but as they drove away her heart began to ache. She forced her attention to the description of the next property on their list: ‘Diamond in the rough’.
Claire was relieved when finally their appointed lunch hour arrived and they stopped under a sprawling gum tree at the entrance to a winery. It was clear that the first house was the pick. The next had been mutton dressed as lamb – lovely on the outside, falling down on the inside. The third, advertised as a ‘gentleman’s residence’, was more like an opium den with its putrid hazy atmosphere and red 1970s carpet.
She swallowed a bite of her egg, mayonnaise and lettuce sandwich.
‘Are you all right, Claire?’ David enquired.
‘Yeah, it’s great, thanks,’ she said, making a desperate effort to sound grateful. David really had gone to a lot of trouble for her.
‘David,’ Bernadette started, with her mouth half full, ‘I don’t want to be a pain or anything, but do you think the other three are really worth looking at? Personally, I think the only one that has any hope is the first. I’m sick of making enthusiastic noises about peeling paint and musty odours and agreeing that, yes, everything does come back into fashion eventually. As for red and green laminex bench tops, that should be a hanging offence.’
‘I’m really not interested in anything that needs renovation,’ Claire said tentatively.
David put down his sandwich, raised his hands, and looking skyward said, ‘Thank God. I thought you’d never ask. If I see another room done in apricot or peach I think I’ll puke.’
‘So, what do we do?’ Bernadette and Claire asked together.
‘Do? There’s only one thing to do.’
‘Yes?’ Claire said.
‘Well ring the agent and beg him to sell you the property, of course, silly.’
They all laughed.
‘Beg? I’m not sure I’m…’
‘Well I guess that depends on how badly you want the house,’ David said, already packing up the lunch things.
They enjoyed an early dinner at David’s home, which could only be described as stunning. Claire couldn’t understand why, with such clear talent in interior design, he’d be working the unsociable hours of a café, when he could be swanning around spending other people’s money doing up their houses.
After half an hour of oohing and ahhing over his carefully placed knick-knacks and exquisite feature walls, David popped the cork on a bottle of champagne.
‘Here’s to an extremely successful day househunting,’ he said, raising his glass.
‘And decisive owners who can negotiate quickly – touch wood,’ Bernie said.
They clinked glasses and took their first sips.
‘I can’t believe it’s all happening so quickly,’ Claire said.
‘That’s because it’s meant to be,’ David said.
‘And because Claire is so damn organised she’d done all the groundwork.’
‘I can’t believe you sold the townhouse so easily. I thought the market had slowed in the city,’ David said.
‘Just lucky, I guess,’ Claire said with a shrug, and returned her attention to her glass.
‘Well let’s hope your luck covers you for moving day. Mine was an ordeal and a half!’ David said.
‘I think we should just let Claire enjoy the moment, don’t you think?’
‘Okay, fair enough.’
Claire, giddy with the euphoria of success and being the centre of attention, reminded herself she had to drive home later. Finally, she could feel the tide turning on her otherwise dreadful year.
They discussed Christmas, which no one seemed to have given much thought to. Claire thought she noticed an odd look pass between David and Bernadette, but dismisse
d it – Christmas had weird effects on people. It would be another milestone in her first year without Keith. When had she last thought of him? Two days? Three? Oh my God! How could I forget him after all we meant to each other? But hang on, she thought. Just because he’s not plaguing your every waking moment doesn’t mean you didn’t love him.
But he was gone. And she had a life to live.
With her champagne glass halfway to her lips, staring at her oldest and newest friends, Claire McIntyre decided that quite possibly she would be okay. She snapped back to attention at having her glass clinked again.
‘You were miles away,’ Bernadette said.
‘Just thinking life’s pretty good right now,’ Claire said truthfully.
‘That’s my girl,’ Bernadette said, and hugged her friend.
As Claire turned into the driveway she did a double take and brought the car to a halt. Something was different. But what? She looked about before dismissing the thought as the lights of the car playing tricks with the shadows.
Claire felt a little apprehensive, suddenly regretting not telling her father about her plan to find her own accommodation. It was silly; here she was a grown woman scared of the same conversation she’d had with her father almost two decades before. She looked back up the driveway at the waving shadows of the trees beside the road. Ahead, the porch light flickered like a beacon. She gritted her teeth and put the car into gear.
Chapter Twenty–five
Jack took the news surprisingly well, even agreeing that, yes, he could understand her wanting time away from him and the horses. He went to great pains to tell her how much he had enjoyed her company, and that he really did appreciate all her assistance in getting him back on his feet.
‘Dad, I’ll still be here every day working you know,’ she said, suddenly concerned he wasn’t quite comprehending.
‘Don’t worry, Claire Bear. Just closing the book.’
‘Sorry?’
‘Well, it’s business from now on, isn’t it? So we’ll have less of the bossy-daughter-helpless-father routine, won’t we?’ He sounded jovial, but Claire still felt the criticism. She forced herself to laugh.
‘I suppose you think that means you’ll be doing all the ordering around from now on?’
‘Too right – we’ll make you a top class trainer yet...’
You’d have to become one first. Claire bit the inside of her cheek, hating herself for the thought. What he said next both stunned and impressed her.
‘…not an old bushie like me.’
Claire beamed and, as always, could not help pushing for extra compliments. ‘You really think I’ve got what it takes?’
‘You’re still here, aren’t you?’ Jack said.
A few days later, Claire was coming back from lunch with Bernadette when she finally realised what was different about the entrance to the McIntyre farm. Something had been bothering her every time she’d driven in, but she hadn’t been able to put her finger on it. Now she saw: the faded tin sign announcing ‘J.W. & G.L. McIntyre’ that had swung untouched for almost four decades had been taken down. It was now being rehung.
Jack was standing holding the ladder while a younger lad – who Claire recognised from the local hardware store – checked the alignment with a spirit level. Glossy new paint gleamed in the bright afternoon sun. The red, shadowed lettering stood out boldly from the white background and the gold swirling details in the corners.
She pulled over and wound the window down, ready to tell them how good it looked. But as she studied the lettering she noticed something slightly different about it. The ‘G’ in the second set of initials was now a ‘C’.
She got out of the car and stared up at the sign. She cursed the lump forming in her throat and swallowed it.
Jack came over to her. ‘So, what do you think?’
‘It’s great, but… are you sure?’
‘I organised it, didn’t I? Of course I’m sure. Thought I may as well make the partnership official. The entrance was looking a bit tired, anyway. Randal here’s going to repaint the gates as well.’
Claire blinked back a couple of tears. ‘Thanks Dad. It means a lot, it really does.’
‘I know. And it means a lot to me having you here.’ Jack put an arm around his daughter’s shoulder, gave it a quick squeeze and let go.
‘Right, so we’ll just have to live up to this flash sign then, won’t we?’ Claire said getting back in the car. ‘I’m going to give Paycheque a workout in the sand.’
‘Good idea. I’ll see you later.’
Claire was glad to wake on Christmas day to find a rare cold, wet morning. The bank of dark, low clouds looming outside her window matched her mood. Here she was, thirty-five years old and living at home with her father. She still hadn’t signed the contract on the cottage. Her offer had been as good as accepted, but the vendors were still trying to work out how long they needed for settlement. And, of course, there was no escaping the fact it was her first Christmas without Keith. Claire couldn’t wait for it to be over.
They were spending the day with Bill and Daphne Markson. When they’d rung to invite her and Jack it was so obviously a pity call – the assumption that poor Claire was now bound to be at a loose end. The worst part was that they were right.
She’d spent so much time away from the city that she’d pretty much dropped out of her social circle. No one had invited her to have Christmas with them. Usually those who didn’t have family in Adelaide took a turn hosting lunch. But they rarely called these days, and when they did there was really nothing to talk about. Probably figured she’d be too busy taking care of her father to get away.
Claire looked out the window again. Bloody Keith. If he hadn’t died she wouldn’t be hating the thought of Christmas. Life would be so different. She groaned. Wasn’t that the understatement of the century? She checked her watch beside the bed. No time for wallowing. She had approximately four hours to drink her coffee, feed the horses and put on a happy face before lunch.
‘Morning,’ Jack said when she entered the kitchen. ‘A fine Australian summer day we have.’
‘Hmm.’ Thank God he hadn’t shouted ‘Merry Christmas’ at her.
Claire had just made her tea when the phone rang on the table beside her. It was Bernie.
‘Happy Christmas!’
Claire scowled at her friend’s cheer. ‘And to you, too.’
‘A little bit of enthusiasm would be nice.’
‘Hmm.’
‘Claire McIntyre, you have lots to be thankful for, so brighten up.’
Ah, so she was in tough love mode. ‘I know. It’s just…’ Claire sighed.
‘I know. It’s your first Christmas without him. You’re allowed to miss him, just not dwell on it.’
‘It’s not that. I’m so sick of everything being about poor Claire who lost her husband.’
‘Well that’s good. It’s a sign you’re moving on.’
‘I wish everyone else would too – I’ve lost count of the number of people who have stopped me in the street the last couple of weeks to talk about the weather.’
‘It’s just because Christmas is…’
‘…a milestone in the first year. I know, and I’m sick of hearing it. I just want it to be over.’
‘Well it will be soon. You just have to hang in there. Look, I’d better get cracking. Just wanted to say hi. I’ll speak to you tomorrow. Have a good day – I’m sure it won’t be as bad as you think.’
‘I know. Thanks for ringing.’
‘Love to Jack.’
‘Okay – same from him. See ya.’
Claire hung up. ‘Bernie sends her love, Dad.’
‘Oh thanks. And back from me.’
‘Did that.’ Claire got up from the table.
‘What’s she up to for Christmas, anyway?’
‘No idea. She wouldn’t tell me.’ She’d asked her friend at their last three weekly lunches. But Bernie had replied vaguely, and quickly changed the subject. There w
as no point pushing. When Bernie Armstrong didn’t want to tell you something, there was nothing to do but wait until she was ready to spill the beans.
‘Probably spending it with that nice David fellow.’
‘Probably.’ Claire supposed she’d find out soon enough. ‘Well I’d better get these horses sorted.’
‘Remember, I’ve told Daph we’ll be over at eleven.’
‘Yes. I know,’ Claire said with a slight groan.
‘Don’t roll your eyes like that. One day the wind will change.’
‘Yes, Dad,’ she said, scrunching her nose at him.
‘Now, that wasn’t so bad, was it?’ Jack said as they drove away from the Marksons’ at five o’clock that evening.
‘No, it wasn’t.’ It had actually been quite nice. There’d been no awkward moments, and not once had anyone asked her ‘how she was getting on’ without Keith. She was that bit closer to leaving the ‘Poor Claire’ tag behind and being just plain old Claire again.
Claire finally got the call from the real estate agent on the day before New Year’s. The cottage was hers – or would be in early March. So it was done. Her last ties with city life were gone and she really was moving back to the country for good. There was no going back now.
Claire tried to get excited about moving, but couldn’t get past the thoughts of packing up one house, cleaning it, and then cleaning and unpacking again at the other end.
It was early days, but David and Bernadette were pushing for a housewarming party the day after moving, insisting that if she didn’t do it then she’d never get around to it. Claire was sitting at Jack’s kitchen table making a half-hearted guest list – just in case she lost her mind and agreed to the party.
The last thing she wanted to do was stand around making polite conversation while a herd of people traipsed through her home, opening all her cupboards and scrutinising her life, spilling wine and crumbs all over the place. She just wanted to move in and spend the next month alone curled up on the couch. She closed her eyes and indulged in her conjured idea of bliss, smiling and sighing with contentment.
Paycheque Page 18