“What’s that?” He still looked calm. Much too calm for a man who’d just complicated his life even more, when I was willing to bet his life was complicated enough. Although with no permanent woman in it, other than his mum.
And then he said, “If it’s the can’t-be-alone-with-a-man thing, there’s my friend Iris there as well.”
Obedience said, “But you aren’t married.”
He said, “Of course I’m not married. I told you I wasn’t married.”
“Just …” I said.
He looked at me blankly, and Dorian said, “Is Iris your partner, then?” Also too calmly, like he hadn’t realized the wind had just been knocked out of my sails. Which was stupid, but there you were. I was stupid, evidently. What, I’d thought the man was pining for me and me alone? I’d known him two days, I’d been nothing but trouble to him, and we weren’t exactly engaged in a torrid love affair, even though, yes, I’d experienced a dramatic loss of clothing at a few stages during our time together. And he’d seemed absolutely unaffected by that, so there you were.
“What?” Gray said. “No. We don’t have that kind of … of relationship. She’s a … I guess you’d say she’s a tenant.”
“Not any better,” I told him. “A tenant?”
He sussed it out, because he looked stunned, and then he laughed and said, “Never mind. I can’t quite explain why it’s funny, but no. Not a tenant with benefits, or whatever you’re thinking.”
“What are benefits?” Obedience asked.
“It’s like needs, I think,” Fruitful told her. “Except you’re not married.”
“No,” Gray said more forcefully. “No benefits. No needs. Bloody hell. She’s my tenant. On my section. You’ll like her.”
“You still haven’t mentioned the problem,” I said, not addressing that, because I didn’t want to admit I was relieved. For all I knew, Gray could be shagging women left, right, and center. He had that house. He had that tattoo. He had that body.
Also, I didn’t care. It was nothing to me. He wasn’t my type. He was a rescuer and … and probably a runner-over, and I hated being needy and refused to be run over.
See? Not my type.
“What’s the problem?” he asked. “Tell me, and we’ll fix it.”
All right, that was a little bit my type. I said, “That if we stay there, we’ll be out of the city. With no car.”
“Ah,” he said. “I told you we could fix it. I have a car.”
“You have an extra car,” I said.
“Yes. I have an extra car.”
“That you don’t need. Just sitting around.”
“Yes. Just sitting around. Of course, you don’t have a license yet, but we can take care of that, as long as you have a passport somewhere here. There’s an office in the Octagon, right? You pack some clothes for you and the girls, we stop off there, you get the license, we do that grocery shop while we’re about it, and you’re golden. Also, I hate to mention it, but the dog’s probably weeing all over the back seat of the ute by now, and you know how important a clean truck is to me.”
I looked at Dorian. He looked back at me and shrugged. I wanted him to … I don’t know. Ask Gray his intentions? Something ridiculous like that. I wanted it, and yet I absolutely didn’t. I’d never needed to read The Handmaid’s Tale, because I’d lived it. I’d got out for a reason, and Dorian didn’t make my decisions for me.
It would be nice, though, to have somebody to confer with. Somebody to ask the questions that felt too rude to ask yourself. Even to insist for you, if you needed that. An advocate, we called it in medicine. The friend or the partner who came to the appointment with the patient, because the patient was overwhelmed.
That was it. That was me. I was the patient, and I was overwhelmed.
“Your choice,” Gray said. “I’ll fix your window either way. But I think Fruitful’s ankle is hurting pretty badly.”
All right. That was playing dirty.
23
Not the Mole Hole
Daisy
An hour and a half later, with a driving license and EFTPOS card in my bag, and groceries and dog supplies in the bed of the ute, I was saying again, “This is mad. You realize this is mad. You don’t want to do this.”
“Look on the bright side,” Gray said. “Maybe you’ll hate it so much, you’ll have to scurry back to the Mole Hole, and all of this will just be a bad dream.”
“The Mole Hole? It has lights. It’s only dark in there because we boarded up the window.”
He glanced at me, then back at the road. We were driving past the St. Clair Golf Club now. This house was going to be over the top again, I could tell. St. Clair? St. Clair was the beach and ultramodern apartment buildings and trendy cafés. I’d have to remind the girls to be extra-careful not to damage anything, since they had zero clue how to care for an actual house. Or how to live in an actual house. “And, yes,” I told Gray, “I know all I did was hold the tape while you taped up the window. And that you didn’t need me to hold it.”
“What’s that I hear?” he asked, turning onto another road. Close-packed houses on either side, a new development encroaching on what had been farmland, and the sea down there to our left somewhere. He put a hand to his ear. “Is it a ‘Thank you?’ No? Must’ve been mistaken.”
“I said thank you. I’m saying thank you.”
“You are?” he said. “I’d hate to hear you saying, ‘Bugger off,’ then.”
I couldn’t help it. I laughed. He grinned and said, “You don’t have to actually see me. I told you. Separate place. We’ll wave in passing, how’s that? Unless you need my help with Fruitful, of course. Pity you’re so little and can’t carry her.”
“I’m not little,” I said. “I may be a bit short, but I’m strong. Especially my legs. I have very strong legs.”
“Yeh,” he said. “I noticed that.”
“Strong thighs are a good thing,” I told him, not sounding defensive. Sounding factual. I was being factual. “I’m a nurse. How’m I meant to do a hard shift in Emergency, or a triathlon, for that matter, with teeny little matchstick legs? I care about functional fitness, not my thigh gap.”
“No worries,” he said. “I’m a fan.”
“Oh.” He was a fan? What did that mean? That I ran fast, I guessed. Otherwise? Men liked thin thighs.
I was so not used to a man doing this many nice things for me. I was competent. I was confident. And, all right, I was also stroppy and sarcastic. At least one of those things generally took care of any man’s white-knight impulses, and then, of course, there was that fifth-date awkwardness when the evening didn’t end the way he’d expected despite all his patience thus far, and so forth. When he put his hand in a too-intimate place, and I froze and couldn’t un-freeze.
And, yes, I’d tried going ahead anyway, frozen or not. It had worked about as well as you’d imagine. Nobody was ever going to be scrawling, “For a good time, call Daisy,” on any toilet walls. Not that I’d want them to, but it would be nice if somebody had ever thought it.
We were past the new development now, and the road was quieter, the houses a mixture of old farmhouses and newly built homes set well off the road, probably positioned for a sea view. He passed a few of those, and then the road ran inland, and he was slowing at a house that sat not far back. A shabby, non-sea-view house with various pieces of equipment parked on the grass in front, and nothing to recommend it but an excellent view of the road.
Oh. It also had a panelbeaters’ sign. He was a panelbeater. That was why he had tools and an old truck and was so competent. He repaired auto bodies.
On the other hand, the house had windows. And, apparently, a sleepout in the back. A bathroom, he’d said, and kitchen facilities.
Yes, there was another, smaller building in back. I could see, because he was turning. A shed, I’d have called that, set on a concrete pad.
I was mad to consider this. I wouldn’t have considered it, except for Fruitful’s ankle and my car. B
ut there was Fruitful’s ankle and my car. Also, the sea was my weakness. The sound of it, and the smell of it, and the feel of it. I could bring out my surfboard and bike, maybe. Living in a shed might not be the best, but I could ride to the sea, or run there. Out here, I could breathe.
I would be grateful. I was grateful. I would remember that I wasn’t materialistic, and never mind how much I’d liked that flash bath of his. Which didn’t make any sense compared with this house, but maybe …
I blanked on what “maybe” was, then realized. He’d used all his money on the Wanaka house. Maybe he’d thought his business would take off, and then it hadn’t. Maybe he’d got a loan that was too hard to pay back. Overextended, they called that. He wouldn’t want to sell the house, though, as much as it would bring, because of his mum. He liked that his mum lived there, loved giving her someplace so beautiful, I could tell.
Which was fine. I could think that and still remember that I didn’t want a man with dusty work boots and faded work jeans, too many muscles, and too much testosterone, other than in my fantasies. Men like that scared me, which was obviously why I was being so bitchy. I could also remind myself right now that I would start saving up again for my own place as soon as I absorbed the expense of the new car and getting the girls through these next five years and so forth, because my student loans were finally paid off. It might take me ten years more to have that key in my hand, the one that was all mine, but when I did, my house was going to have an ensuite bath and space for a garden. It wouldn’t have a sea view or eight showerheads, because reality, but it would have that ensuite.
If I wanted it, I’d earn it, and be glad for the opportunity. Meanwhile, I’d borrow Gray’s other car, because, yes, there was a car back here, too, by the shed, an elderly white sedan with a bit of rust showing. I’d get Fruitful seen to and everything bought, and then I’d say, “Thank you very much,” and forget the muscles and the work boots and the competence, and we’d …
He wasn’t stopping. I said, “Isn’t that it?”
“Isn’t what it?” He was still driving down the track, which curved to the left of an extensive stand of pines.
“Where’s your house?”
The track curved to the right and came around the trees, and he said, “Here.”
It wasn’t Elizabeth Bennet’s first view of Mr. Darcy’s beautiful house at Pemberley. It just felt that way.
We approached from the right, where two big aluminum sheds flanked the track. No overgrown grass or discarded equipment here, just tidy lawns, freshly cindered track, and neatness. Beyond the sheds, the house backed up against the hillside, with a stand of tall eucalyptus behind it that would let the light in, and a row of pines marching away down the hill beyond it, so you wouldn’t know anybody else existed and the west wind couldn’t touch you. The house faced south, toward the sea, and its front garden was planted with native bush. Cabbage trees and flax plants and some agapanthus and calla lilies just coming out, and green lawn in between, mowed and edged. The track kept on around the garden, past more pines. Another windbreak, probably, because the land must extend a fair way down there. I could just see the faint line of silver that was the sea.
The house itself was the absolute opposite of the glass cube. It was a pretty white bungalow that had to date back to the Otago gold rush a hundred fifty years earlier, with a tin roof and ornamental iron fretwork like lace along the top of the wide covered porch. Three dormer windows stood in line like sentinels, breaking up the expanse of silver roof, and an old brick chimney, painted the same white, ran up one side. On the other end of the house, I could see a black iron stovepipe. Firewood was stacked neatly along one side of the porch, together with an enormous, sleek gas barbecue that was the only thing that did look like the Gray I’d met. The front door was painted dark green, the front windows were tall, and the whole thing was as cozy and welcoming as you could imagine.
“Oh,” Obedience said on a sigh. “It’s so beautiful.”
“It’s really not,” Gray said. “It’s a terrible house. You’ll see. Fortunately, you don’t have to live in it.”
Gray
Now that we were here, I was nervous.
I should be nervous that I wasn’t at work yet. Daisy was right: the decision to bring them here had been mad. I did not have time for this kind of complication.
Since I didn’t seem to be coming to my senses, though, I swung out of the ute, opened the back door, and told the dog, who’d been lying between Obedience and Fruitful like it was her appointed mission to make them comfortable, “Come on, girl. Come see your new home.”
She was grateful, anyway. She raised her head from Obedience’s lap, gave me that worshipful, soulful look from her brown eyes, got past Obedience with a mad scramble, and jumped down with her tail going in a full circle. After that, she ran to the grass, squatted for a long, luxurious wee, then ran back to me and did some more happy wagging, forcing me to give her a few thumps on the shoulder. By that time, Obedience had climbed out, too. Fruitful hadn’t, maybe because she was in her stockinged feet.
Instead of putting her shoe back on at Daisy’s apartment, she’d taken off the other one, saying, “I don’t want to wear these ever again, and I can’t walk anyway.” Daisy had chucked them into the bin, and Fruitful had looked absolutely satisfied.
Now, Daisy started hauling bags out of the back, and I said, “I’ll get those.”
“No,” she said, loading herself up with six of them—six, three in each hand, like she was a pack horse. Or like she’d always assumed it was down to her to carry anything that needed carrying. “You’ve got all the dog stuff, and you need to go to work, I’m sure. It’s nearly noon. We’re all good. Grab my suitcase, Obedience. Fruitful, we’ll come and help you in a minute. Oh—and I’ll bring dinner over for you tonight, Gray, if that would help. And let us know if we can help you in any other way. Cleaning, or anything.”
I stood back and folded my arms as she moved off. “Where are you going?” I called out.
She turned. “Oh. Behind the house?” When I kept standing there, she said in exasperation, “Then point me.”
I sighed. “Fruitful,” I told her, “I’m grabbing you.”
“OK,” she said.
I got her out of the car, hefted her into place, and told Daisy, “If you let me lead the way, you’ll actually find out where you’re staying and won’t have to wander about calling to each other, lost in the bush. And if you refrain from shoving me back into the ute at the earliest opportunity, I’ll give you the car key and unlock the Mystery Treasure Map before I go, which will mean you can find the car, too.”
“I said I was grateful. I’m just trying to help,” she said, lifting the bags like she was proving a point. She had some biceps. Impressive. Not quite as good as her thighs, but still—impressive, at least for a slim person with the bone structure of a sparrow.
“Well, quit trying to help and let me help,” I said, crunching over the walkway of white stones at the base of the porch and along the path through the trees.
“You say that,” she said from behind me, “but you did the exact same thing. When you wouldn’t let me climb in through the window.”
“Yeh?” I said. “I have news for you. I’ll never let you climb in through the window.”
“That doesn’t even make sense,” she said. “How many more times are we climbing through windows?”
Fruitful said, “I thought you did a very good job climbing through the window, Gray.”
“Thank you,” I said. “And this is it.”
Behind me, Daisy stopped. I could tell, because her voice was coming from farther away, like she wouldn’t actually step on my heels in her eagerness to get to the next thing on her list.
Fruitful said, “It’s a tent.”
Daisy said, “No, it isn’t. It’s a yurt.”
“Oh,” Fruitful said. “It looks like a tent. A big green tent.”
I carried on with taking her up the wooden ramp and
onto the deck, then set her down in a chair and got the key from under the pot. “It’s a tent,” I said, “and a yurt. A yurt is a Mongolian tent.”
“It has a spa tub on the deck,” Daisy said, as if I wouldn’t have noticed. “If this is an Airbnb, Gray, at least let me pay you for it.”
I sighed. “For the last time: I don’t want your money. I can also promise you that I will never have an Airbnb, so no worries. I like people to leave me alone, not come around crowding me and asking questions. It’s where I lived after I bought the place, that’s all, until I’d finished the big jobs on the house. Iris lived here for a bit, but she said it was too flash for her. So I’ve already heard that, and I don’t need to hear it again. It’s not too flash. It’s a yurt. It’s just not a home for the Mole People.”
“If you like people to leave you alone,” Obedience asked, “why did you invite us?”
I said, “Because you’re different.”
“Because he feels sorry for us,” Fruitful told her sister.
“That’s why,” Daisy said.
“No,” I said. “It’s not. Would you just … go inside, please? And have a look at this bloody yurt so you can decide if it meets your exacting standards? If you’re not at the house to get the car key within fifteen minutes, Daisy, I guess you can start your driving tomorrow, because I have to go to work.”
As a gentleman, I failed.
But then, gentlemen probably didn’t have these kinds of provocations. Like women who kept taking off their clothes around you and acting completely oblivious about it, and objecting to your perfectly reasonable offers of help even when they were in a desperate situation. Women who kept on being prickly even when the person who ought to be helping them seemed totally unaware of it, and just toddled off happily to his wife again, leaving his sister to fend for herself, because she was so good at it and she’d always done it before, so why not this time, too? Gentlemen probably didn’t leave their house single, and come back a day and a half later with three reluctant women, the threat of an angry, deserted husband turning up—the husband of two of them—and a dog. A female dog. Who was going to have to come in the truck with me again, because I was going to be late getting home tonight, and I really didn’t need to be causing distress to a dog. A worshipful dog. Who loved me. For whom I was now completely responsible.
Kiwi Strong (New Zealand Ever After Book 3) Page 16