Water under the Bridge

by Lily Malone

  ‘Erik.’

  He heaved himself off the bed, and ran his hand through his hair. ‘Okay. I’ll go.’

  Ella stretched in the bed, picked up her pillow and plumped it, turned it over, rolled to her shoulder so she faced the clock and closed her eyes.

  A tear squeezed from behind her eyelids.

  Life would be so much simpler if she could love Erik Brecker the way he wanted to be loved, with all her heart and her body and every breath in her lungs.

  That’s the kind of love Erik deserved.

  She flopped to her back and stared at the ceiling. She didn’t want to let her thoughts drift in the tangle of her marriage, so deliberately she set them in another direction.

  Henry would offer this.

  Jake would accept that.

  She’d say this …

  * * *

  When Ella woke, Saturday morning breakfast was already waiting. Erik had made German apple pancakes and he and Sam hounded Ella to hurry, because they wanted to explore the Tree Top Walk near Walpole.

  They had a wonderful day. Sam had been as relaxed as she’d seen him in months. There was something about those tingle trees that dwarfed the problems of the world, and Ella shoved all the thoughts and emotions that Erik’s visit had stirred to the back of her mind, enjoying the sense of freedom and space from being up in the canopy of those massive trees.

  She even managed to stop thinking about Henry Graham and Jake and the Honeychurch house … well, almost.

  After Sam went to bed that night, Ella started hunting through her music, thumbing through the titles, trying to work out what she felt like listening to. Something fun. Boogie Wonderland? Boney M?

  ‘Are you playing this crazy disco tunes?’ Erik asked.

  ‘It’s not crazy. Disco is fun.’

  ‘Hmm. Lucky I bring these, eh?’ Erik held up his headphones.

  He’d always hated her choice in music.

  Ella put the record back in its place on the shelf. ‘I don’t have to play music. We can just talk.’

  ‘Okay.’

  After a while, Erik’s eyes hooded and his chin dropped to his chest. He’d always been a shocker for falling asleep on the couch.

  She got up to turn the light off and sat there in the dark, nursing her glass of wine. The gum tree canopy swayed in the breeze, outlined by the night sky. If she strained her ears, she could hear the wind beyond the windows, and on a night like this it was easy to imagine the wind was whispering a secret message meant only for her.

  Then again, maybe it was just the wind, whispering nothing at all.

  CHAPTER

  10

  For all her imaginary conversations about the Honeychurch house, when the phone call came about 10 am Sunday morning, it took Ella by surprise. She was hanging out a load of washing when Sam stuck his head out the back door to tell her that her mobile was ringing.

  Ella missed the call, which came from a number she didn’t recognise, and quickly dialled it back.

  ‘Henry Graham,’ greeted the voice.

  Ella’s heart took off like a helicopter. ‘It’s Ella Davenport, Henry. I missed a call from this number?’

  ‘Ah, Ella. I spoke with you Friday afternoon? At the Home Open on Chalk Hill Bridge Road?’

  ‘Of course, I remember. How are you?’

  In the kitchen, Sam opened the pantry door and took out the Milo tin.

  ‘Are you working today, Ella?’

  ‘I’m not at work right now, but I can be if you need something.’ Ella crossed her fingers. Please need to buy the Honeychurch house.

  ‘Good. I’d like to take another look at that house. Can you get me in there today?’

  ‘Can I make a Milo, Mum?’ Sam asked.

  She mouthed at him, ‘Wait a moment,’ and Sam’s chin got stubborn.

  ‘Of course, Henry. The property is vacant. I can meet you there any time. I just have to call in to the office to pick up the key.’

  ‘Mum?’ Sam asked. ‘Can I make a Milo?’

  Impatiently, Ella waved at Sam that yes, he could. Anything so she could concentrate.

  Sam pulled open the kitchen drawer, rattled through the teaspoons and slammed the drawer shut. Then he rattled the cups and stirred that Milo like his life depended on how many revolutions of the spoon he made in a minute.

  Ella walked away from the noise so she could finish the call in peace.

  ‘How about noon? Does that work for you?’ Henry asked.

  It gave her a couple of hours. ‘Of course.’

  ‘I intend to make an offer, Ella, just so you know. I have a few questions about the zoning.’

  ‘Some of those questions might be better put to the Shire Council, Henry, but I’ll have as much information as I can at hand. Not a problem.’

  ‘See you there.’

  Ella pressed the button to end the call and let out a squeal of pure excitement. The noise brought Erik running into the kitchen on his bare feet.

  ‘What happened?’ Erik asked, hair wet from the shower.

  ‘That man who came to the Home Open on Friday night wants to see the house again,’ Ella said, lightning fast, turning two tight circles in the kitchen, dancing on the tiles.

  ‘Good for you, Ella. You are on your way.’

  ‘It’s no big deal,’ Sam grumped. ‘I bet he doesn’t buy it.’

  He’d spilled a cup-sized splotch of milk on the countertop and it was leaching into spilled dry brown Milo grains, turning the whole mess chocolate.

  ‘Make sure you clean up the kitchen when you’ve finished your drink, please, Sam.’

  Silence greeted her. Ella’s hand curled into a fist, hard enough to cut at her palm. ‘Sam?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I said make sure you clean up the kitchen.’

  ‘Fine, Mum. I’ll clean up the kitchen. Happy now?’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Ella set out at a run for the bathroom to get herself ready, then stopped and turned back to Erik. ‘Can you stay till I get back so we can celebrate? I mean, if there’s something to celebrate. If there isn’t anything to celebrate, you can be miserable with me.’

  Erik shook his craggy head. ‘Sorry, Ella-my-Bella. There is the whole week program again to plan, and a new intake starts for the junior swim school. I will head off shortly.’

  Ella’s spirits took a tumble, but nothing could kill her buzz.

  She showered and dressed, taking time to pick out her clothes, choosing her lucky shirt. Heels, handbag, sunglasses, phone.

  She came out of her bedroom at the same time as Erik stepped into the hall from the lounge, overnight bag strapped over his shoulder.

  ‘Are you off already?’ Ella asked, sad inside.

  ‘I am. Good luck with this big sale today. I think it will work out. I have a good groove about it.’

  ‘A good vibe, or a good feeling you mean.’

  ‘Yes. I have both of those.’

  They stood inside the front door and Ella gave Erik a hug. His arm felt warm and snug across her back, like it always had, and she leaned into him until he stood back and looked down at her. Then he called into the house. ‘I’m going now, Sammy.’

  No answer from the lounge, where Ella could hear the television.

  ‘Sam?’ she called, louder.

  ‘What?’ Sam all but screamed it back at her.

  ‘Erik has to go now. Come and say goodbye.’

  ‘Goodbye.’

  ‘Come here and say goodbye,’ Ella ground out through her teeth, adding to Erik beneath her breath, ‘I swear to God! Ten-year-olds!’

  ‘Is okay,’ Erik said, and he was about to make his way around from the hallway through the kitchen to say goodbye when Sam appeared, hair tousled from where he’d been lying on a cushion, mouth set like those deep-sea fish in the wildlife documentaries, the ones that scared you.

  ‘I wish you didn’t have to go, Erik,’ Sam said, hugging Erik to him.

  Ella’s heart cried.

  ‘I�
��ll come for another visit, Sam.’

  ‘When?’

  Erik looked at Ella. ‘When your mum says is okay.’

  ‘When will that be?’ Sam pressed, sullen eyes on Ella.

  ‘We will see, Sam. Erik’s busy.’

  Sam unwrapped his arms from Erik’s waist and his head snapped up. ‘You mean you’re busy. You and this dumb new job. I hope no one ever buys a house off you!’

  Sam flung away from Erik. Out the back garden. Gone. Ella made to go after him but Erik touched her arm. ‘He will cool down. Let him go. Do not miss this big sale meeting.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘If he gets what he wants, he wins. Go sell that house. Is important to you.’

  Still she wavered on the doorstep. Every maternal instinct inside her screamed that she should follow Sam and hug him better.

  Only she wasn’t sure this could be hugged better. Not right now.

  ‘He will cool down, okay, Ella? You go. Sell this house.’

  CHAPTER

  11

  The second last Sunday of the month again. Jeez, but it comes around fast.

  Jake drove through Chalk Hill on his way to the fire shed for the once-a-month training session. That made it exactly a month since Percy had flown into Nanna Irma’s house and he’d first met Ella and Sam.

  Perhaps because he had Ella and Sam in his head, when Jake saw a boy on a bike race across the highway a few hundred metres in front, he recognised Sam immediately. Sam was pedalling like he’d hurled a rock at a hive of bees and the bees got mad.

  ‘What have you gone and done now, Sam?’

  He braked and turned right, following Sam past a row of white-weatherboard houses where roses and window boxes competed for best garden in the street. The road went straight up the hill, then dog-legged right into the bowling club, the old pool and recreation fields. Ahead, Sam stood on the pedals, feet churning, bronze helmet bobbing in the sun.

  Jake didn’t want to frighten him by looming up alongside so he stayed well back, but he was curious why Sam would need to let off steam on a Sunday morning. Plus, a certain rock-throwing incident remained fresh in his mind. The kid had a single-minded purpose about him that spelled trouble.

  Sam churned straight through the entrance to the Chalk Hill and Districts Bowling Club, flew along the bitumen road and skidded to a stop in the car parking space marked ‘President’, making blue-metal surf in a wave.

  Nice skid, kid.

  Jake parked outside the entrance gate and walked towards the clubrooms on foot in sun that was hot enough for him to wish he’d grabbed his hat. Sam and his bike disappeared around the side of the low-slung red-brick building and the bad feeling in Jake’s gut got the better of him. He started jogging.

  Reaching the clubrooms, hurdling the corner of a garden bed and its nodding mix of pink and white pansies, Jake hunted for Sam but couldn’t see him, and his pace increased to more run and less jog. He loped along the short side of the building until he burst around to the front where the expanse of the bowling rink spread out from the main entrance like a flat green tongue.

  And there was Sam. The kid was poised at the top of the cement ramp that let wheelchairs access the clubrooms, face full of an equation that went like this: how fast do I need to ride down the ramp to jump off the verge and land on the green?

  Jeez. ‘Sam!’ Jake shouted.

  The kid didn’t blink. Jake wasn’t even sure he heard.

  If Sam replicated the skid he’d done in the President’s carpark on Chalk Hill’s precious bowling green, his mother would never sell a house to anyone within a hundred-mile radius of town.

  Sam stood straight on his pedals and heaved his weight up against the handle bars. All the pressure of his right foot came to bear and he was off. Ten metres. Nine metres. Eight.

  ‘Sam!’ Jake roared.

  Seven metres. Six metres. Five.

  Jake put his fingers to his mouth and whistled.

  It was the whistle he reserved for Jess, when the kelpie was 200 metres away in a corner of the paddock chasing sheep in the wrong direction. This was the whistle for when a roar wouldn’t cut it.

  It split the air.

  Sam’s head turned, the boy’s eyes wild and wide beneath the brim of his helmet.

  Sam’s concentration wavered when he recognised Jake. The handlebars wobbled. The kid grazed the metal scoreboard at the head of Rink 12, making a dull thud clang around the green. He lost momentum, but his gaze ticked back to that tempting plush green tongue, and Jake could have sworn the kid licked his lips.

  ‘Don’t you dare,’ Jake thundered.

  Sam slammed on his brakes. Boy and bike quivered to a stop, half a metre before the verge dropped a foot to the ditch, and the manicured green.

  Jake let out a breath.

  Sam dropped his left shoulder and turned his head to Jake. ‘I guess you’re gonna dob me in.’

  You freaking bet I’m telling your mother. ‘Whaddaya think you’re doing, Sam?’

  Sam’s gaze slid away. ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Doesn’t look like nothing to me.’

  ‘What’s it to you anyway?’

  Jake was trying to stay cool, but this kid made cool difficult. ‘To me personally, kid, I don’t give a rat’s arse. I don’t play bowls. But what about thinking of the guys who’ve been coming to water and mow this lawn and look after it for about twenty years? Old Schoonsy, the greenkeeper here, he’s a volunteer. He’s retired now but he comes here three times a week to mow. He takes a lot of pride in what he does. How’d you think he might feel if a smart alec kid like you wrecked all his work?’

  Sam shrugged. A slide of shoulders that said why should I care?

  Which was a red rag to a bull as far as Jake was concerned. ‘What about the businesses in town who have those signs all along the fence there? They pay good money to sponsor the club. My business pays to sponsor the club. Half the people in town play bowls and the other half come along to watch. A kid like you thinks he’ll just cut it up for kicks and doesn’t give a shit about what that does to other people.’

  Jake didn’t realise until Sam edged sideways on his bike, skinny little butt sliding off the seat, how much closer he’d got to the boy during this exchange. He leaned in from the hips, getting in the kid’s space, thumbs hooked through the pockets of his jeans.

  ‘Bout time you took a bloody good hard look at yourself, buddy. What were you thinking? What part of you thought that might be a good idea?’

  ‘Sorry,’ Sam said, looking at his shoes. ‘I dunno. I wasn’t thinking.’

  ‘What was that?’

  The kid’s head bounced up. ‘I said I was sorry.’

  ‘Good. So you damn well should be.’

  They glared at each other, each breathing hard. Nothing else moved except the pansies in the breeze. In the paddocks out beyond the bowling green, one of the steers bellowed.

  ‘Right,’ Jake said, wondering what he was supposed to do now. He wouldn’t put it past Sam to resume his plot if he left him here, and now that he’d cooled down, he really wasn’t sure how far to read the riot act. Wasn’t that his father’s job?

  Yet this kid intrigued him. Sam was obviously smart. He’d been great with Percy. Jake was convinced there was a rough diamond under the tough-guy stone.

  ‘You do get it, dontcha, mate? If any of the locals caught you cutting up their bowling green on your bike, it’s your mum who’d have to pay for the damage. You understand that, don’t you?’

  ‘Yeah. I guess. If they’d caught me.’

  Jake ignored that. Getting caught wasn’t really the point. ‘No one would sign her up to sell their house. She wouldn’t have a job anymore.’

  Sam dropped his gaze. ‘Yeah, okay, I get it.’

  ‘It’s her livelihood, mate. It’s how she puts food in your fridge, pays the bills.’

  ‘It’s just a dumb job,’ Sam burst out. ‘She cares more about selling stupid houses than she cares about me. If she cared about m
e, I wouldn’t be in this crap-hole where there’s nothing to do.’

  ‘Right.’ Someone had to set this kid straight, starting right now. ‘So how about if I give you a job to do then, hey? Then you won’t be bored.’

  ‘What job?’ Sam asked.

  ‘You’ll see. Come with me.’

  * * *

  ‘Initial here and here,’ Ella said, pointing to the sales contract, trying not to talk too fast, trying not to miss anything, ‘and then sign here, and here, and Harvey can be your witness.’

  Henry Graham initialled and signed, and as he clicked his pen carefully before putting it in his pocket, Ella’s blood fizzed.

  This was like winning National trials. This was as good as a personal best.

  Harvey leaned across the Begg & Robertson boardroom table to drag the papers towards him, witnessing Henry’s signature before pushing the pages back.

  All three stood and Henry offered his hand, first to Harvey.

  ‘So you’ll get back to me when you hear something from your seller,’ Henry said, moving his handshake and his smile to Ella.

  ‘Of course. I’ll call him now. Thank you so much, Henry.’

  He maintained the pressure on her palm. ‘I’m around today but I have to be in Perth tomorrow.’

  ‘No problem. I’ve got your number.’

  She wanted Henry Graham out of the building because she wanted to shake her booty up the corridor and yell at the photocopier, ‘I made a sale!’

  Technically, it wasn’t a sale till Jake signed, but Ella wouldn’t let that kill her buzz. Ella wouldn’t let anything kill her buzz.

  ‘Pleasure doing business with you,’ Henry said, finally releasing her hand. ‘Talk to you later.’

  ‘Later, Henry. Thank you. I’ll be in touch.’

  Henry Graham closed the front door behind him.

  Ella bounced on the balls of her feet. Once. Twice.

  As he watched her, a slow smile deepened the grooves that already layered Harvey Begg’s face. ‘Congratulations, Ella. It’s a good feeling, isn’t it?’

  ‘It’s a great feeling, Harvey,’ then she added, ‘even though I’m only halfway there.’

  ‘Not that I want to dampen your enthusiasm, but I’m not sure you’re even halfway on this one. But it’s a starting point. That’s what you’ve got. You’ve got something to show Jake.’