Lisa Heidke (26 page)

‘What’s up?’ he asks.

‘Nothing.’

Don’t ask me why, but I jump up to sit on the kitchen bench, attempting insouciance, and knock over a carton of milk in the process. Briefly, I imagine having sex with Dom right here in the spilt milk, before sanity takes over and I jump down and mop up the milk with a tea towel.

‘Carry these?’ Dom asks, ignoring my absurd behaviour, handing me a stack of dessert plates. I follow him back into the dining room to join the others.

‘So,’ Gloria asks Dom and me when we’re all eating ‘homemade’ apple pie from a local bakery, ‘would you rather be happy yet slow-witted and unimaginative, or unhappy but bright and creative?’

‘How can you be happy but slow-witted?’ I ask, inhaling the aroma of baked apples.

‘Look, you’re not allowed to get analytical. It’s not part of the game. You just have to answer the question.’

‘Okay,’ I say. ‘Then I’ll take unhappy but bright and creative.’

‘Why?’ Gloria asks.

‘Because I can take medication to make me happy. I can’t take a pill to fix slow wit and lack of imagination.’

‘Good answer,’ Dom says, sucking his dessert spoon, clearly impressed with my reasoning.

‘I’ve got one,’ I say. ‘Would you rather go a week without bathing but be able to change your clothes, or a week without a change of clothes but be able to bathe?’

Gloria laughs. ‘You’ve got first-hand knowledge of this one, Luce.’

It’s not until a couple of hours later, when the kids have gone to bed with fat Rusty and Gloria’s strategically removed herself from the conversation, that Dom and I talk again.

‘What happened?’ I say, staring into the open log fire, watching the embers as they float up and disappear inside the chimney.

Dom looks at me, serious and concerned. ‘With what?’

‘Us.’ I glance away from him. Us . . . I want to know what happened to us. What might have been, should have been, but isn’t.

‘Luce, it wasn’t the right time for us. You know that. If I hadn’t left that morning, I never would have gone to Europe. I would have stayed behind and -’

‘I might have gone to Europe with you.’

‘Even worse. You were on the brink of great things in your acting career, and, if memory serves, they happened.’

‘So I have you to thank for that?’

‘Exactly. Besides, we were too young. Way too young. At least, I thought we were. You, on the other hand, found yourself a bloke quick smart.’

‘And wasn’t he a keeper?’

‘You know, Luce,’ Dom says, taking a sip of wine, ‘I always thought I’d come back to Australia in a couple of years and we’d pick up from where we left off.’

‘But you didn’t come back for ten years.’

‘That’s only because I found out about you and whatshisname. A couple of years after I leave, you’re married with a baby on the way.’

‘I guess it was a bit quick,’ I say, breathing in the wood smoke.

‘A bit?’

‘I didn’t think you cared. After all, I did throw myself at you that night.’ I cringe at the vivid memory.

‘And I loved it. Do you know how much self-control it took for me to leave the next day?’

‘Didn’t you think I was pathetic?’

‘Never. It was all about timing.’

‘Isn’t it always?’

‘I knew I could wait. And you?’

‘I can explain . . .’

‘The clock’s ticking, sweetheart. I was gutted about you and Max. I wrote you a letter.’

‘I didn’t get it.’

‘I didn’t post it.’

‘What did it say?’

‘Don’t marry him.’

‘I could have done with that advice.’

‘Would it have made a difference?’

‘I’m not sure,’ I answer truthfully. ‘I
thought
I was in love with Max, but I
knew
I was in love with you . . . ah, at the time when I knew you,’ I say, back-pedalling.

Dom leans forward and kisses me. It’s been thirteen years. And his kiss is definitely worth the wait.

‘Mmmmm,’ I say.

‘Mmm good? Or mmm bad?’

‘Mmm, more . . . Maybe I still have a little crush on you . . .’

‘What? Only a little one? We’ll have to see what we can do about that.’

A small voice breaks the moment. ‘Mummy, I had a bad dream.’

It’s Sam. Perfect timing. Perfect.

Reluctantly, I wrench myself away from Dom and walk Sam back to his room where I tuck him into bed. After I’ve rubbed his head and kissed him goodnight, I try to leave, desperate to recapture the magic with Dominic. But Sam won’t let me.

‘Please don’t go, Mummy, I’m scared.’

Fair call. We’re in a strange house, staying with a stranger.

‘I’ll take you into my bed,’ I say. ‘Would you like that?’

He jumps up and is in my room before I’ve gathered his dressing gown and stepped out into the hallway. When I catch up with him, I see that Bella has already put herself to sleep in my bed as well.

‘Are you getting in, Mum? It’s freezing,’ Sam says, snuggling next to Bella.

I change into my comfortable pink-striped flannelette pyjamas (see, I wasn’t really expecting romance) and am suddenly exhausted. The three of us cuddle in the king-sized single bed. With Rusty lying across the foot of the bed, it’s very crowded in here! As I’m drifting off, I realise I don’t ever want to leave my kids or for them to ever leave me.

I’m happy just the way we are.

Day 63

I
t’s after nine when I wake. There are no little people in my bed. Surprising, given their fear last night. And there is no dog.

Oh . . . last night.

I realise Sam saved me from making a complete fool of myself. As if I haven’t got enough on my plate without adding the heartache of unrequited love to the list. Did I really believe that Dom and I could make wild passionate love on a sheepskin rug in front of an open fire with only scented candles and the moonlight to guide us? How old am I? Eighteen?

I stretch for a few minutes before deciding I really should get up and tend to my children, even though I’m sure Gloria and Dom can handle them.

‘Must be that fine country air,’ says Gloria, when I finally wander into the kitchen.

‘Coffee?’ Dominic asks.

I nod and quickly look away. What was I thinking last night? The past is in the past. I definitely have to get over it . . . and him. But I can’t stop my eyes wandering back to the man. His hair falls boyishly over his forehead . . . and his hands . . . so strong. His fingers, long and perfect. Just like the rest of him.

His right hand brushes against mine as he sets my coffee down on the table. Dear Lord! At this point, I’d sell my soul for half an hour with Dom naked. Don’t get me wrong though. I wouldn’t sell my children. Rent them, maybe. But never sell them permanently.

‘Glad you slept,’ Dom says with a smile. ‘I didn’t sleep a wink.’

‘Where are the kids?’ I ask, looking around.

‘Watching the Disney channel,’ he replies.

I raise my eyebrows.

‘In the TV room. We’re not as backward in the country as folks would have you believe. We have electricity, telephones and, yes, cable television. As well as a flying fox rigged up over the river nearby.’

‘My kids’ll never want to leave.’

‘That’s okay,’ Dom says. ‘I could use the company. But at the moment, I’ll settle for you,’ he says, looking straight at me, ‘coming outside to collect some eggs so we can have omelettes for breakfast.’

‘Don’t mind me,’ Gloria says and waves us off. She’s happily ensconced at the kitchen table, coffee in one hand, weekend papers in the other.

‘I didn’t know you had chooks,’ I say once we’re outside in the dazzling morning sunshine.

‘I don’t, so this little expedition could take a while.’

Dom takes me by the hand and leads me through a field away from the house.

‘Where are we going?’

‘Up here, so we can be alone . . . maybe talk.’

I want to ask what he means by ‘maybe talk’ but the words aren’t forthcoming. My throat is dry and those stomach knots are back.

Ten minutes later we’re lying on the grass under a gum tree at the top of a hill. There’s no one around; except for a few black and white cows dotted on the hillside and a slight breeze blowing stray leaves, it’s quiet. The sun is warm and the air is a heady mix of cow manure, eucalypt and honeysuckle.

Dom leans across my body and kisses me on the lips. He pulls back and looks at me. I wrap my arms around his neck and we kiss again, this time more insistently. For a very long time. But still nowhere near long enough for me.

I tug at his shirt. Even though my hands are trembling, I pull it over his head and do a double-take . . . He smells fresh, is muscled but not too buff. Just right. And not a hint of fake tan.

I stop. Am I setting myself up for a fall again? We’ve only just re-established contact. Dom is my friend. Why would I want to jeopardise our friendship a second time? I like him and don’t want to wait another thirteen years before meeting up again. I don’t want to have to manufacture reasons to see him. If I stop now and we remain just friends, I won’t have to, but if I have sex with him, everything will change. We’ll no longer be friends . . .

While I’m having these sensible adult thoughts, my hands, evidently with their own agenda, have unbuttoned Dom’s Levi 501s and they’re now lying on the grass.

‘Wow,’ I mean to think, but instead say it out loud.

‘Wow, good or wow, bad?’

‘Wow, amazing,’ I say. Breathe, Lucy. Breathe.

He takes hold of me and pulls me towards him. I am deliriously happy. ‘Would you call this premeditated?’ he asks, drawing circles with his index finger over my stomach through my top.

‘Definitely . . . most definitely.’

‘And you’re willing to take responsibility for your actions?’ he says. My body tingles everywhere he caresses it.

‘Stop talking,’ I say, kissing him with every ounce of feeling I have.

‘You’re beautiful, Lucy.’ He kisses my neck.

‘Take my clothes off,’ I say, eager for some skin-to-skin action.

‘You haven’t answered my question. Will you take responsibility for what we might be about to do?’

‘What might we be about to do?’

‘Not the answer,’ he says, pulling my hands to the sides of my body and straddling me. I try to move my arms but they won’t budge.

‘Yes, yes, I’ll take responsibility. Yes, I know what I’m doing.’ I’m laughing. ‘Anything, Dom, please. Just kiss me and take off my clothes.’

‘All of them?’ he teases, lying back down on top of me and kissing my lips.

‘Everything,’ I demand, showering his cheeks and lips with light butterfly kisses.

I don’t have to ask twice. We’re naked. A good, happy, in the sun naked.

His tongue plays with my nipples. Exquisite. Divine.

By the time he slips his hand between my thighs I’m ready to explode.

‘Make love to me now,’ I croak.

‘Too soon,’ he says. ‘Far too soon.’

He takes me in his arms and kisses me long and hard.

I’ve waited forever for this moment. I want to tell him that I’ve always loved him, and that I’m sorry I didn’t go to the airport. That I wish . . . Well, there are so many things I wish.

‘Dom,’ I start.

‘It’s okay,’ he murmurs, his tongue nuzzling my breasts.

‘Ohh,’ is the last intelligible sound I make for a very long time.

We make love, the weight of his body on top of me, beside me, inside me. It’s perfect. He’s perfect. We’re perfect.

I want to cry with happiness, but I’m still unsure about where I . . . where we stand. I just know I could lie here forever and let the world pass me by. I want to tell him I love him. Always have. Always will. Even if this turns out to be a one-off, never-to-be-repeated episode. But I don’t want this feeling to end. Ever. I’m in heaven and can’t ever imagine getting enough of him.

I wonder if this is what it’s like for Max and Alana - that feeling of wanting to be touched, never satisfied, needing the moment to last a lifetime. I can’t believe I have these strong feelings for Dom, feelings that have been locked away for years . . .

As I reach to retrieve my discarded clothes I wish I could throw a child’s tantrum, demand that Dom and I remain lying together in the grass like this for the rest of the day. I don’t want to go back to the city, my house, reality - because in my reality, Dom has always been a fantasy and fantasies never come true.

On the walk back to his house, I take every opportunity to touch him . . . his arm, his face, his hair. But neither of us says a word. I don’t want to speak for fear of breaking the magic. Just before we reach the back door, Dom bends down to kiss me and I feel somehow overwhelmed, scared. Scared it will all come to an end now . . . after this kiss. Before it’s really begun.

‘What’s up?’ Dom asks when I hang on to him longer than I should.

‘I . . . It’s just . . .’

‘I know. You have a lot going on in your life right now.’

‘It’s not that complicated,’ I say, half laughing. I don’t want to have a serious conversation. Don’t want to lose the moment. I reach up and try to kiss him again, but he stops me.

‘Come on, admit it’s a little complex,’ he says, then hugs me tightly.

‘Shhh. Kiss me.’

‘Luce . . .’ he says, releasing me and kissing me lightly on top of my head. ‘Ready to go inside?’

‘No.’ Stay outside with me, I think. Once we go inside, I don’t know what will happen. I’m terrified.

‘Too bad.’ He whacks me lightly across the butt. ‘Come on, we’ll walk this path together.’

‘Where are the eggs?’ Gloria demands as we walk through the kitchen door.

I shrug my shoulders and feel like crying.

‘Thought as much,’ she smirks and pulls a twig from the back of my hair. ‘So . . .
voila
! Bella, Sam and I collected our own eggs - from the fridge - and made scrambled eggs.’

‘With mushrooms,’ says Sam.

‘And tomatoes,’ adds Bella and laughs.

‘This is delicious,’ I say to Bella and Sam as I devour a huge plate of toast, eggs, mushrooms and tomatoes. ‘I’m ravenous.’

Then I notice the dining table we’re sitting at is the same as mine. ‘This table, Dom?’ I say. ‘You bought this from the same place as mine, didn’t you? It’s almost as beautiful.’

‘Well, dining tables are so important, aren’t they? You spend so much time sitting at them. Eating at them.’

‘Reading the weekend papers,’ says Gloria.

‘Doing homework,’ says Bella.

‘Sticking chewing gum under them,’ adds Sam.

‘Exactly. Timber, especially recycled timber like this,’ Dom thumps the table with his hand, ‘has so much history, mystery. If timber could talk . . .’

‘Go on,’ I say.

‘Too much?’ he asks.

‘Not at all. You’re passionate. I like that. I really like that.’

‘If I could interrupt,’ Gloria says, just as the kids disappear into the other room to watch
The Suite Life of Zack and Cody
. ‘I found an article in the paper this morning that might be of interest to you both. About Gracie. You remember Gracie Gardener, don’t you, Dom?’

‘Darlene, you mean? Yeah, she was infatuated with me at one time.’

‘You never told me that,’ I say.

‘See, you don’t know everything about me.’

‘Did you ever give her one?’ Gloria asks him.

‘Certainly not. When I told her I was saving myself for Lucy, she went ballistic.’

‘Did you really say that?’ I ask.

‘Yes, and I meant it.’

‘So that’s why the slut has hated me for years. I never understood until now.’

‘Do you want me to read this to you or not?’ Gloria says, busting her chops to reveal all.

‘Go ahead, I’m listening,’ I say.

‘Okay,’ Gloria says, getting all dramatic and clearing her throat. ‘
Former Australian soap star Gracie Gardener was not let off lightly on charges of welfare fraud because she’s a celebrity, her lawyer says.
Not let off lightly, my arse.’

‘Without the running commentary, thank you,’ I say.

‘
Gardener, whose most recent role is as
Seasons
’ femme fatale, was sentenced to a six-month jail sentence and two-year good behaviour bond with a non-parole period of three months. The thirty-eight-year-old -
’

‘Thirty-eight!’ I cut in. ‘I knew it. That lying bitchy witch. I knew she was older than me and now I have proof.’

‘Now who’s interrupting?’

‘Girls, enough. Gloria, keep reading,’ Dom says.

‘Gardener’s lawyer said the star was relieved to put a “long and arduous period of her life, which she regrets” behind her and that she urged others in her position to “come clean”.’

‘Yeah, right.’

Gloria glares at me before continuing.
‘Gardener was suffering from depression at the time of the offences, after the recent breakdown of her marriage to theatre critic and sometime celebrity spruiker Edwin Cassidy. The prosecution claimed the only reason Gardener stopped drawing the payments was because she was dobbed in by her former husband after she glued his genitals to his abdomen. The defence argued that Ms Gardener “had an inability to face reality” and had suffered a near breakdown after her fraud was brought to light.’

‘Any more?’ I ask.

Gloria raises her eyebrows and goes on.
‘Gardener, best known for her portrayal of the soapie siren Liv the Lush in the long-running TV series
The Young Residents
, won a Gold Logie in 1994 for the role, and five Silver Logies for other work.’

‘That’s it?’

‘What more do you want?’ Gloria asks.

‘I never knew Gracie loved you, Dom,’ I say.

‘I didn’t say she loved me. She harassed me. Once she came around wearing a full-length black fur coat and very little else.’

‘Charming. How could you resist?’

‘The point is I did resist. I ordered her out of the house, as I remember, and she went crazy.’

‘Excuse me, people. According to the evidence,’ Gloria waves the newspaper in the air, ‘I think you’ll find she’s still a loon.’

Afternoon arrives far sooner than it should. It almost kills me to pack the car for the drive home.

‘Before you go,’ says Dom, ‘I want to show you something.’

My gaze is instantly drawn to his crotch.

‘Not that,’ he says, giving me a nudge. ‘Though, on second thoughts . . .’

‘Okay, okay,’ I say, laughing. ‘What do you want to show me?’

‘My little workshop over here.’ He points to a large building close by.

‘I assume you keep cars, decrepit tractors in here, that sort of thing,’ I say when we arrive at the roller door.

‘Not quite.’

He opens the automatic door and turns on the light. Bella and Sam scurry in behind us.

‘This is
so
cool,’ Sam says. ‘So you make all this stuff, the chairs and everything?’

‘Sure do. I’m out here most days, making furniture - like tables.’

‘My table,’ I say, tears welling in my eyes.

‘Afraid so.’

‘Wow, I knew you were an amazing sculptor, but these pieces . . .’ I run my hand over a recycled hardwood sideboard.

‘They’re so distinctive. Original. I can’t believe it.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Nothing. It’s just that when I knew you, you were working with copper wire and making plasticine models.’

‘Fair call, but then I decided I’d had enough of copper.

I wanted to work with wood, so I started doing bits and pieces of furniture. I find it incredibly soothing.’