What Rosie Found Next

by Helen J Rolfe

  He leant against the kitchen bench top now as he ate his toast. He was content moving from one place to another and dossing down in Magnolia Creek whenever it suited because he loved this town. Tonight’s ninety minute journey, zigzagging his way to Lakeside Lane on his Ducati, revelling in the sense of freedom, had cleared his head and he’d felt ready to tackle the challenge of finding out exactly what it was his parents were keeping from him. He needed to know. He wanted answers. The time had come to get to the bottom of why he’d never felt good enough in his mother’s eyes no matter what he did, how much he pushed himself, how successful he was.

  He retrieved the key to the study from above the fuse box and pocketed it. Tomorrow, he’d have a good look through all the personal papers his parents kept in there.

  He thought about the girl upstairs: the girl with the none-too-subtle pink car tucked down the side of the house; the girl with trusting brown eyes, a button nose and straight copper hair that grazed the middle of her back. He thought about the slight gap between her front teeth that made her look innocent and the odd necklace she wore that looked like a body with no head, legs astride, hands on hips. He knew he hadn’t made a very good first impression with his rudeness, snatching supplies from the fridge and pantry she had most likely filled herself, but her presence had thrown him.

  He climbed the stairs to head to the room at the farthest end of the house. At the top of the stairs, George was curled up neatly in his usual position against the bannisters, although instead of being outside Owen’s room or his parents’, he was outside Rosie’s.

  ‘So she’s won you over already, has she?’ He crouched down and stroked George from head to tail. ‘Maybe you could let me in on your secret.’ He rubbed his fingers beneath George’s chin and the cat purred and dribbled contentedly.

  In the morning they would sort this mess out. There was nothing else for it – she had to go. If he was going to turn this place upside down and find anything, then it was the only way. And if there was one thing Owen Harrison was used to overcoming, it was a challenge.

  Chapter Three

  When Rosie signed up for this house-sit, she envisaged waking every morning to the twittering sounds of birds performing their dawn chorus, enjoying a leisurely breakfast with only George the ginger cat for company and completely relaxing away from the city. So when she woke up to the deep, meaty pulsing of Owen’s motorbike, she was bitterly disappointed.

  ‘What time is it?’ she said out loud, fumbling for her iPhone. When she noticed the time fast approaching ten o’clock her anger subsided a little. She’d slept much better than she’d anticipated given Owen’s arrival in the middle of the night. After she’d left him in the kitchen, she’d gone up to her room and dragged the desk across her doorway to stop anyone coming in when she was asleep.

  She yawned, stretched her arms up to the ceiling and padded over to the window where she pulled back the side of the curtain in time to see Owen’s leather-clad figure astride the bike pulling out of the driveway.

  When Owen had stood at the sink last night scrubbing filth from his hands, Rosie had looked over at the pictures dotted around the room and her eyes had settled on the family portrait on the kitchen wall. She’d immediately matched one of the boys to the man who stood before her, albeit a filled-out version of the lanky teenager from the photograph whose clothes had hung off him as though they were two sizes too big and whose hair had flopped in an unruly, childlike way. And as he’d pumped a second round of soap into his palm and scrubbed at his hands again, Rosie realised his green eyes were hereditary, the same shade as Jane Harrison’s, the woman who had welcomed her to the house yesterday.

  But Owen was so different to the woman who’d given birth to him. Jane, a quiet, no-nonsense woman with a flawlessly decorated house, was a woman with a together appearance – smart clothes, pleats down the front of her trousers, pearl-drop earrings – and a woman who seemed on edge, as though at any moment life could jump out of the closet and say ‘boo’. It was hard to believe she could have a great oaf of a son like Owen who seemed to enjoy being as awkward as possible.

  Rosie dragged the desk from its position across the bedroom door, back to its rightful place at the side of the room, and wondered whether Owen Harrison was coming back. Somewhere between the time Owen had arrived and when she’d woken up to the sounds of his motorbike, she’d become all the more determined that she wasn’t going to be the one to leave. Her part-time job as a PR assistant at Magnolia House started in a few days, and it was the perfect opportunity to put her communications degree into practice. This house was in the perfect location to walk to work, and the house-sit had come up at exactly the right time given the lack of rental properties within commutable distance this side of Christmas.

  It had taken confidence to take on a job in an area where the risk of bushfires was a part of everyday life, but Rosie had had plenty of challenges in the last eighteen months, and it was just another one to come her way. Jane Harrison had shown her the bushfire plan as casually as she’d shown her how to operate the washing machine and dishwasher; as calmly as she’d given her the rundown of the list of contacts that covered a gamut of possible emergencies from the pool water turning brown to a gas leak; as matter-of-factly as she’d told Rosie where the key to the study was should she need to use a printer. They’d talked about preparations during bushfire season, including clearing gutters and keeping the grass trimmed and watered, and Rosie had managed to dial down any panic derived from her personal history.

  Downstairs, Rosie checked the kitchen for a note from Owen. Hopefully a note to say he’d gone for good. But there was nothing. When he still wasn’t home by midday, she gave up waiting and went upstairs to unpack some more. She’d been too tired when she arrived yesterday and had instead enjoyed the first night in this lovely house by relaxing with dinner and a glass of wine. Once she got dressed and dried her hair, she would email Jane and raise the issue of her son. She didn’t fancy being scared half to death again if he decided to come back, and she certainly wasn’t going to be the one to leave Magnolia Creek.

  She busied herself hanging clothes on rails, dumping electronic devices in a tangle of wires onto the desk, emptying her wash bags into wide drawers in the en suite. Her bedroom was no less luxurious than the rest of the home. A king-size bed stood in the middle of the light, airy room, and fluffy fawn cushions sat atop the crisp white linen. A gentle breeze rippled through the half open window that looked out to a view of the mountain ash trees and lush ferns standing tall at the front of the house and beyond.

  After a long shower, Rosie hummed as the breeze through the open window fanned away the heat from the hairdryer. She tipped her head upside down to reach the strands beneath, and when she flicked her head back up she squealed at the figure standing in the doorway.

  ‘Don’t you ever knock?’ she yelled, switching the hairdryer off and grabbing a T-shirt to hold across her chest. At least she’d already pulled on a pair of jeans and a bra.

  Owen had the same smug look on his face as last night. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I shouted hello from downstairs and I knocked, twice.’

  ‘Well if someone doesn’t answer, it generally doesn’t mean come in!’

  ‘Oh okay, don’t get your knickers in a twist.’ The words played on his lips. ‘Look, I know we got off on the wrong foot last night, and it was my fault, but I wanted to talk about … arrangements. I’ll grab a coffee and a shower and then I’m all yours.’

  Arrangements? Surely it was simple? He was leaving.

  Lost for words, she waited for him to go and then pulled her T-shirt over her head.

  Perhaps the desk should be a permanent fixture across her bedroom door.

  *

  Less than ten minutes later she joined Owen in the kitchen. She declined the offer of a coffee when he poured himself a cup.

  ‘You were too quick for me,’ he said, and at her confused expression, added, ‘I haven’t had a shower yet.’ He nodded towards
the deck. ‘I was going to drink this outside first if it’s okay with you.’

  ‘It’s fine.’ She noticed the small scar that cut across his left eyebrow, and his dark messy hair covered the tops of his ears as though begging for a trim. When his eyes locked with hers, she scurried out onto the deck to where a newspaper sat on the table, the pages flapping gently in the wind. It was a warm afternoon with the garden now bathed in sunshine, and she’d been caught out by the changeable weather again. Melbourne’s four-seasons-in-one-day reputation had her wondering whether she’d need to rethink her jeans in favour of a cotton dress.

  When she heard Owen behind her, she stiffened, glad to feel George brush against her ankle. He’d be a good distraction while they talked. But when she noticed George happily curled up on the leather sofa inside, she looked down and saw a reptile skulking across the deck. She yelped and jumped up.

  Owen slurped his coffee. ‘No need to panic.’

  ‘It’s huge!’

  ‘Rosie, meet Bertie.’

  ‘Bertie?’

  ‘Bertie the blue-tongue.’

  Rosie eyed the lizard. It had to be well over a foot long. She shuddered thinking about how it had slithered against her bare skin.

  ‘He won’t hurt you,’ Owen went on. ‘Not unless you try to pick him up.’ He tapped a foot near Bertie until the reptile turned and retreated towards the rockery at the side of the garden. Owen actually looked sympathetic rather than amused, but Rosie suspected he was trying to get on her good side so he could stay at the house a little longer.

  She breathed a sigh of relief at the lizard’s departure. ‘I’m not likely to pick him up.’

  ‘Probably a good idea, he’d more than likely bite you. They prefer to hide away from their predators.’ He nodded towards the rocks where Bertie had found his sanctuary.

  Rosie wasn’t sure which unexpected guest had frightened her the most in the last twelve hours: Bertie or Owen.

  Her heart rate returning to normal, she looked over at the pool where the cleaner was chugging away, stuck in a corner. ‘Isn’t that thing supposed to move around in the water?’

  Owen frowned, took another gulp of coffee and then trotted down the steps towards the pool, calling over his shoulder, ‘That thing’s technical name is a Kreepy Krauly, and you’ll get used to seeing it stuck in this corner.’ He plunged his forearm into the water, wrestled with the hose for a minute or two and then headed back up to the deck as the Kreepy Krauly chugged merrily around the sides of the pool once more, sucking up all the debris along the tiles. ‘Sometimes it needs a bit of encouragement to get moving.’

  The Owen of last night would’ve laughed about Bertie the blue-tongue and how scared she’d been. The Owen of last night would’ve left her to fix the Kreepy Krauly. But this morning he was surprising her more and more.

  He tipped his head back to get the dregs of coffee in his mug. ‘If you think you can cope with the wildlife of Magnolia Creek, I’ll take a shower and then we can talk.’

  ‘Sure.’ She stayed outside on the covered deck while Owen disappeared upstairs. She drew her legs up onto her chair, hugging them in close in case Bertie decided to take another wander, and only when she heard a strange buzzing coming from the kitchen did she move from her spot.

  On top of the galaxy-black kitchen bench was a pager, doing a merry dance as it vibrated and tried to get her attention. She called up the stairs to Owen, but she had no idea whether he’d heard her or not. She wondered what kind of job relied on a pager, but she wasn’t about to pry and see what it said.

  She reread the bushfire escape plan and checked the FireReady app on her iPad that Jane had recommended for instant updates to Magnolia Creek and the surrounding areas. There was low fire danger for today, which was a relief, and the only incident was some twenty-five kilometres away. And rather than making her jittery about fires as she’d thought it would, the app reassured her that all was fine. Jane Harrison had also told her there hadn’t been an incident here in more than twenty years. She was safe.

  Seconds later Owen appeared in the kitchen and lifted up the pager. ‘Was this buzzing?’

  ‘Yes.’ She tore her eyes away from the towel wrapped around the bottom part of his torso, but looking at his naked top half with droplets of water still snaking their way down his chest and back was no less distracting. She tried to lose herself in the FireReady app even though she’d seen as much as she needed to.

  He charged out of the kitchen but not before she saw the full tattoo on his arm, the intricacy of the design a surprise. It was a rose, roughly the size of a baby’s fist and almost like a ghost of the flower with a hint of red within the light and dark grey shading.

  She was still thinking about the tattoo when Owen raced back down the stairs, yet again, wearing grey tracksuit pants and a black T-shirt with a loose hem at the bottom. ‘Can our chat wait?’

  He didn’t leave her with much choice because he grabbed his keys and left. To where was anybody’s guess, and now she was stuck in limbo again. She liked to know what was happening and when. She hated having to wait for things to unfold for her.

  Perhaps she should call the house-sitting agency and let them sort this mess out. She went upstairs and pulled out her house-sitting contract and leafed through the pages, scanning for clauses in her favour, but as she got to the end of the paperwork she realised that in a peculiar way – discounting their introduction in the middle of the night – she’d enjoyed interacting with Owen today. Having another person in her living space was something she wasn’t used to, hadn’t been for a long time, but it was something she’d enjoyed. And she’d certainly appreciated him scaring away the lizard and fixing the pool cleaner.

  She slotted her contract back into her file. As two grown adults, surely they could sort this out between themselves.

  Chapter Four

  Owen came and went the rest of the day as though the house were a youth hostel, and he was gone again the next morning. Rosie found it quite impossible to pin him down, and once again she was torn between chasing after him to force him to talk to her and phoning the agency to say she wanted out of this house-sit on the grounds that it had ‘unreasonable complications’.

  So much for the adult approach.

  She’d thought about contacting Jane and Michael Harrison in London, but it would feel childish to do so. No, calling them had to be a last resort if she and Owen couldn’t resolve this. Owen had certainly been pulling his weight around the house at least, feeding the cat before she’d had a chance this morning, emptying the dishwasher, replenishing juice and milk supplies – hopefully not drinking from the spout any more either.

  She dragged the hose from the back of the house around to the front to water the shrubs and creepers that added to the English Tudor property’s grandeur. She watered the dancing violet and yellow flowers in the hanging baskets positioned between the downstairs mullioned windows framed in dark wood, and she sprayed the foliage framing a front door made of the same wood with iron panels running across it. George sprawled out in the sunshine as she worked and brushed against her legs every time he decided it had been quite long enough since Rosie had paid him any attention.

  She went to the kitchen to pour a glass of lemonade and took it to the back deck. She opened up her iPad and tapped Adam’s name into the FaceTime app. It was early morning in Singapore, and if she was lucky she’d catch him before he got too busy. She couldn’t wait to show him this place. They’d been together for four years now and often talked about getting a place of their own. She crossed her fingers that this house-sit could open his mind to living further away from a big city. She’d never given it much thought, not until this job opportunity had come up, but now she was actually here, it was addictive and she found herself wanting the peace and tranquillity more and more.

  ‘Hello there.’ Adam grinned when his face appeared on her screen. He ran a hand through cropped blond hair that formed a hint of a quiff at the front. ‘I’m all yours for t
en minutes and then I’m off to the first meeting of the day.’

  With a roll of her eyes, Rosie smiled. Adam was fast climbing the corporate ladder, and the busier he was in his job as an investment banker, the happier he was.

  ‘Are you missing me?’ she asked.

  ‘Of course I am. And I’m sorry we couldn’t chat this past week, but it’s been full on here. How was the drive up to … where are you?’

  ‘Magnolia Creek. The drive was fine, less than three hours.’

  ‘Not bad going from Geelong. How’s your mum?’ She’d spent three days with her mum in between house-sits.

  ‘She’s good. She’s been taking Italian cooking lessons.’

  ‘Good on her.’

  ‘She fed me up with a lot of pasta when I was there.’

  Adam drew in his breath. ‘Dangerous.’

  ‘I know. I’ll have to swim it off in the pool during this house-sit.’

  ‘You will.’ He laughed. ‘How are her plans going for renovating her house?’

  ‘Great. She’s all set to convert the attic space into a huge master bedroom with en suite, which obviously she can’t do until she gets rid of my things.’ Rosie knew construction wasn’t due to start for almost a year, but she needed to remind Adam that not having a permanent address wasn’t an arrangement she wanted to go on indefinitely. She wanted to feel settled, normal at last.

  ‘I’m sure you’re not imposing,’ he said. ‘So come on, what’s this grand house like?’

  He’d changed the subject as usual, but Rosie was too relaxed today to get uptight about it. She flipped the camera on her iPad around so he could see the place for himself.

  Framed by spectacular views of the fields and bushland that surrounded Magnolia Creek and stretched for miles, the garden was a real-life watercolour spread out before them. The smell was different too, although only she got to appreciate that right now. The freshly clipped lawn and floral notes pervaded Rosie’s senses and were far more powerful than any garden in the city or suburbs. She wished Adam could be here to feel the difference between a place this remote and the city.