Magpie's Bend

by Maya Linnell

  Lara swallowed then re-read the article, pausing when she got to Holly’s quote.

  I’m so pleased for my dad. He never toots his own horn, which is why I entered his work in the contest. I was surprised he didn’t keep the camera, especially seeing he’s starting his own photography business, but it makes me proud to know it will help women who’ve survived trauma.

  The spokesperson from the refuge centre said the money would provide a much-needed boost to the families who used the emergency accommodation service.

  Donations like this are always gratefully received, and I thank Mr Paxton on behalf of all the brave women who come through our doors.

  Lara reeled from the news.

  Why would he part with a top-of-the-line camera?

  She handed the article back to Mrs Beggs and tried to jolt her thoughts into order.

  ‘He’s a decent bloke, Lara,’ said Mrs Beggs gently.

  Lara felt even more muddled by the time she’d driven home.

  You once thought Sam was a decent bloke too, remember?

  There was only one thing for it. Lara strode into the kitchen, flicked on the oven and pulled an apron over her head. She separated eggs and set the whites to whip. Just as she was sifting flour, her mobile pinged with a text from Evie. It was a photo of the article Mrs Beggs had shown her.

  Did you read the article? I called Holly after I saw it in the paper. She says to tell you again how sorry she is xxx Your favourite daughter, Evie

  Lara pushed the phone aside and returned to the recipe book, wiping a drip of egg white from the well-loved spongecake page. But even as she tapped the brimming sponge tins on the benchtop to get rid of the air bubbles, she couldn’t stop thinking about what might have been if she hadn’t heard about the photo contest or the job offer, shunting her from pure happiness to perfect misery in one fell swoop.

  She slipped the sponges into the oven and set the timer, still feeling antsy.

  It was too big a hurdle to get over.

  Wiping her hands on her apron, she decided more baking was in order, so she tossed an extra handful of flour onto the bench and worked on a cinnamon-scroll recipe that tasted as good as it looked. The mixer would have made short work of the dough, but she felt the need to knead.

  Lara turned the dough over and over.

  Was Toby a good dad? Yes.

  Stretching and pulling.

  Did he roll up his sleeves and help save a shop because he’s a nice bloke? Yes.

  Pulling and stretching.

  Is he tolerant of animals, and old people, and children, even Harry and Elliot? Yes, yes, yes and yes.

  Slowly she felt the fibres in the dough began to loosen. She thought of Toby’s powder-blue safari suit and his gentle, unhurried kiss after the ball.

  The oven timer went off before she’d made up her mind. With the sponge cakes out of the oven, Lara set the dough aside to rise. Her heart ached.

  Toby was the first man she’d wanted to trust in a long time, and already that fragile thread had been tested and found wanting. Lara pulled cream from the fridge and tipped it into the mixer. Even after the fridge door was closed and the beaters were coated with creamy whipped peaks, she felt a chill deep in her bones.

  Don’t forget what happened last time, she told herself. She never, ever wanted to give anyone that power over her again, not in this lifetime. Her brain told her that it was easier to be lonely than risk it, even if every piece of her heart disagreed.

  Toby surveyed his living room, wondering where to start. He had always hated packing.

  Belinda would appreciate the extra hand with her new bub, his mum would too, and maybe if he spent more time with his dad, his memory lapses might not be so vast. Being back in Ballarat would make it easier to see Holly during the week too, as well as on the weekends, and it made sense to be closer to Melbourne for his new photography business.

  It’s the smart thing to do.

  Toby flicked the kettle on and opened the cupboard. Jars of homemade pickles lined the shelves, along with fresh rhubarb jam from Diana, and the colourful blue-and-yellow apron Nanna Pearl had whipped up in one of her sewing lessons with Eddie and Jaylee.

  He stared at the local goods, feeling a prickle in the back of his throat at the love that had gone into each and every item.

  How could he leave Bridgefield and the woman who’d captured his heart?

  He picked up the teapot his mum had given him as a housewarming gift. It was one of her favourite pieces, commemorating the 1981 marriage of Lady Diana and Prince Charles. Alice hadn’t given up on his dad for all those years, even on the days he couldn’t remember his own name, the days when his eyes lit up for Queenie, but not for her or their children or grandchildren. She hadn’t given up on the royals either.

  His laptop dinged with the arrival of an email, illuminating the screen with his new website. Pride swelled as he watched the slideshow of his best images—the portraits, the weddings he’d shot for friends, the landscapes. He double-clicked on the photo he’d taken down by McCluskey’s shearing shed, before it had all gone up in smoke. It was everything he loved about living in Bridgefield: the serenity, the early mornings, the quiet roads, the space. He’d been happy here.

  Toby’s gaze went to the rows of cameras lined up on the shelf by the window—the old Box Brownie, the Pentax and the retired Nikons he hadn’t been able to part with, even when he’d transferred to digital.

  Good things were worth saving. Good things are worth working for.

  Bugger it, what’s the worst Lara can say? Goodbye once and for all?

  Toby headed to the door and drove across Bridgefield to Pearl Patterson’s house. Music flooded out through open windows when he arrived. He could hear her singing along to Kenny Rogers, and when the door opened, the smell of baked goods rushed out the door to greet him, followed closely by Eddie.

  ‘Toby, Toby, Toby,’ said Eddie, crossing the threshold to wrap him in a hug.

  ‘Morning, mate, is your nanna around?’

  Eddie nodded gleefully. He grabbed Toby’s hand and tugged him inside, where Pearl was pulling a tray of scones from the oven.

  ‘You must’ve followed your nose down the laneway,’ she said with a chuckle, dusting her hands on a purple flowery apron. ‘Get ’em while they’re hot,’ she added, pushing a plate towards him.

  The smell was divine. As Eddie broke open a scone, the most magnificently scented steam poured from its middle. Toby’s stomach rumbled so loudly that both Eddie and his grandmother laughed.

  ‘Nanna Pearl’s best scones,’ said Eddie, piling two onto Toby’s plate.

  ‘It’s a crime to walk away from hot scones,’ said the older woman, tapping the lids of the various jams. ‘Quince jam, peach jam, rhubarb-and-banana jam, or boring old blackberry,’ she said. ‘Straight from the orchard.’

  Toby looked at his watch.

  ‘Thanks, maybe just one,’ he said, picking up the plate. ‘I was actually hoping to ask you a favour,’ he said. ‘I’ve got a surprise for Lara, and I need a couple of helpers.’

  Pearl leaned in, her smile so broad he could see a smear of pink lipstick on her teeth. ‘I’m all ears.’

  Twenty-nine

  Lara flung the tray of burned biscuits onto the lawn. It was the second batch she’d ruined in as many hours and she didn’t have the patience to risk a third.

  ‘I’d probably stuff them up too,’ she muttered under her breath. Basil wandered across the yard, sniffed the smouldering biscuits and gave them a wide berth.

  ‘Wise move, Baz,’ she said, rubbing the kelpie between his ears.

  If her sisters were here, they would urge her to have another shot. But Lara had knocked back their company. It was much easier to wallow when you didn’t have an audience.

  She slumped onto the couch and tried to muster up some enthusiasm for the latest Country Style magazine, but no matter how many beautiful kitchens she admired or recipes she skimmed, she couldn’t get her mind off Toby.


  Call him.

  Call him and tell him you overreacted.

  Just call him.

  But as she reached for her phone, it started to trill in her hand. Lara answered on the first ring.

  ‘Oh Lara, so glad I caught you,’ said Nanna Pearl. ‘Eddie missed the bus from Hamilton, and Tim’s at the saleyards today. Any chance you can cover at the shop while I pick him up?’

  Lara looked at the pile of magazines Penny had delivered with strict instructions to chill.

  ‘Of course I can. Be there soon.’

  Purpose was good. Purpose gave her a little window of grace before she dredged up the courage to swallow her pride and invite Toby back into her life.

  Nanna Pearl was waiting at the back door of the shop when Lara pulled into the car park.

  ‘Sorry to drag you away, pet,’ said Nanna Pearl, smiling warmly. She didn’t look half as harried as she’d sounded on the phone. ‘Be back shortly.’

  Lara waved her off and went straight into tag-teaming with Brody, serving customers and handing out mail. Two pies, three bags of mixed lollies, several newspapers later, she heard a noise coming from Main Street. Lara shielded her eyes against the afternoon sun and peered out behind the dusty postcard stand.

  There in front of the shop, right beside the A-Frame board promoting the pie of the day, stood Toby.

  The familiar strains of the Friends theme song filtered through the glass windows.

  He raised a microphone.

  But he hates … singing in public. A smile escaped, completely unbidden, as she opened the front door. The sound was even worse at full volume.

  From the corner of his eye, Toby could see the traffic slowing. The Mums and Bubs walking group had stopped short of the Bridgefield pub, their strollers banking up. A child cried at the sudden lack of motion and quite possibly his singing. Five seniors with yoga mats paused outside the Bush Nursing Centre.

  Why did I choose rush hour?

  He moved onto the chorus and it took every skerrick of his self-control not to close his eyes and block out the amused stares, giggles and most likely sniggers.

  He kept his eyes fixed on Lara’s, searching for a sign that this crazy idea had been worth it. He closed the gap between them with another step, studying her gold stud earrings, the strands of hair that had snuck loose from her bun, the almost invisible freckles dusting her cheekbones—anything to distract himself from the spotlight he’d stepped into.

  Why in God’s name had he chosen a song with so many verses?

  The music swung into the third verse. He sang along, his attention veering from the printed lyrics in his hands to the walking group. Most of the children had their hands covering their ears, and even some of the parents, though at second glance he noticed one of the mums pulled a mobile from her nappy bag.

  Great, now someone’s filming me making a complete twit of myself.

  But still he kept singing.

  Toby ignored the drops of rain landing on his face. The skies could open up, but he would stand here until every last bit of fight had drained out of him. Hell, he’d even do an encore if that’s what it took.

  The music started to wind down, but still Lara stood with her arms folded across her chest.

  It hasn’t worked.

  For the first time in his life, he wished the Friends theme song was twice as long. The small crowd outside the nursing centre started to clap as Toby stopped singing and the music cut out. The toddlers in the strollers joined in even though it was quite possibly the worst piece of street entertainment ever to be inflicted on the town of Bridgefield.

  Lara raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m pretty sure that violated at least ten different noise-pollution laws,’ she said. ‘You’d better come in before they start throwing rotten tomatoes.’

  Toby followed her into the shop, closed the door behind him and flipped the sign to closed.

  ‘But it made you smile, didn’t it? I know how much you like that song.’

  ‘There’s so much you don’t know about me, Toby.’

  Toby heard the anguish in her voice, but even worse was the sadness in her eyes as she looked away.

  Lara blinked slowly, feeling the familiar stab of uncertainty well up inside her.

  A few months ago, at the top of Windmill Track, she’d wanted to kiss him.

  A few weeks ago, at the top of Windmill Track, she’d wanted to slap him.

  A few days ago, in the dark of the night, she’d mourned the future they almost had.

  An hour ago, she realised exactly what she’d missed out on and wanted to remedy that.

  And now, standing here in the Bridgefield General Store, the same place she’d first met him all those months earlier, she felt more conflicted than ever.

  She fixed her gaze on the mailboxes behind the counter.

  ‘You’re right,’ Toby said, ‘there are so many things I don’t know about you. But here’s what I do know.’ He smiled. ‘I know you’re stubborn. I know you hide your key under the purple flower pot. I know you like to try to keep up a gruff pretence but you saved Basil—you would’ve carried him to the vet yourself if that’s what it took. I know you care more about your community than your own wellbeing, and that nobody else could’ve saved this shop.’

  He ran a hand through his hair.

  ‘And those magpies you hate so much? You still had a big enough heart to adopt Vegemite,’ said Toby, the look on his face so hopeful that it made her heart ache. Toby continued, talking faster, as if he could see the storm of emotions and the damage they could wreak.

  ‘And you know so much about me. How many times have you rolled your eyes at my odd socks? It was years before Petra even noticed. You know I’m pretty rusty at the Nutbush but I still give it a shot. You know I can’t sing to save myself.’

  He cleared his throat and fixed her with those earnest eyes.

  ‘You know we could be good together,’ he finished simply.

  I’d mess it up.

  Lara shook her head. ‘I don’t know that, Toby. My judgement’s completely up the creek. I didn’t even know my husband was an abusive bastard until years into our marriage. I’ve been jealous of my in-laws—people who have a son in jail, for God’s sake—because Evie is forming a relationship with them. If past history’s anything to go by, I’m missing some vital points on the human compass.’

  Shame rose from deep inside as she spoke the words aloud, and she shivered. If she didn’t let him in close, she couldn’t get hurt.

  Toby studied the strong set of her jaw. How can I make her understand?

  He wanted to pull her into his arms, kiss the little mole on the underside of her jaw, smooth the wisps of chestnut hair back into her bun.

  ‘So, you’re not perfect. Me either. But I’m not planning on spending the rest of my life whipping myself for it. Holly’s the best thing that ever happened to me, and I’d wager Evie’s right up there on your list of achievements, yeah?’

  Lara murmured her agreement.

  ‘Hell, if you’d told me last year that I’d turn down the job I’ve wanted my whole career, for a woman I’ve known for six months, I would’ve laughed. But there’s something about you, Lara McIntyre. And if you’ll have me, I’m here …’

  Another cheer came from outside.

  What the …

  Toby turned and looked through the shop window. The crowd was still gathered in the street. The staff from the Bush Nursing Centre was watching too. Farmers had spilled out of the pub for a stickybeak, one giving Toby a thumbs-up. He looked down at his hands, realising the microphone was still switched on. And they’d heard every word he’d uttered.

  If you’re gonna be a bear, you might as well be a grizzly.

  He raised the microphone to his lips, ignoring the voice inside his head that reminded him he still had a slither of pride left.

  He sang another few bars from the Friends theme, meaning every word. He wanted to be there for her, rain, hail or shine. He wanted her to feel safe with
him, and fall asleep beside her knowing she was there for him too.

  A loud whistle came from outside.

  Lara whirled around in time to see Tim’s WB Holden crawl down Main Street. Nanna Pearl’s purple hair glowed from the passenger’s seat.

  ‘I thought Tim was stuck at the saleyards?’ She looked back to Toby. ‘How many people did you rope into this charade?’

  ‘Only enough to make sure you’d be at the shop.’

  ‘Did you arrange the rent-a-crowd?’

  Toby held out his hands.

  ‘You can thank Nanna Pearl and the gossip hotline for that one.’

  Lara yanked the shop door open.

  ‘Righto, everyone, show’s over,’ she called.

  Lara’s mind searched desperately for the courage needed to let herself be vulnerable, to be brave like Toby.

  He’d made a complete fool of himself, yet here he was, standing in the Bridgefield General Store, having given one of the worst karaoke renditions she’d ever witnessed.

  Damned if she didn’t feel more drawn to him than ever.

  ‘Anyone in favour of the karaoke bar is now thanking their lucky stars it didn’t get off the ground,’ she said.

  Toby ignored her and took a step closer until he was inches away. So close she could smell the lemony hint of his laundry powder.

  ‘I want to make it work, whatever it takes,’ he said.

  His words started a domino effect, little frissons of happiness that did funny things to her heartbeat, but caution kept her at bay.

  Toby scanned her face.

  ‘Tell me you don’t feel the same? Tell me, hand on heart, that there’s a good reason not to choose happiness?’

  ‘I thought I’d made good choices before, but—’

  She faltered. It made complete sense in her head, though as she said it out loud, it felt clear as mud. She blurted out the rest quickly, before logic deserted her. ‘I’ve been there, done that, Toby.’ Lara drew a ragged breath. ‘Sam proved how wrong I was. And if I’ve learned anything from that bastard, it’s that nice guys are for fairy tales.’