‘Seriously, Ella. Sorry, I didn’t mean to blurt it out like that. Here.’ Jake took the plate in one palm and her hand in the other. ‘Sit down before you fall.’
Numbly, Ella sat on the verandah boards.
‘What’s the big secret anyway? If I’d been a famous swimmer, I think I’d want the world to know.’
‘I’m not famous.’ Ella pulled her hand from Jake’s. ‘Erik is the famous one. Erik always was. I’m just the has-been who got herself knocked up and knocked out after Nationals. Everyone would have forgotten me like that,’ she clicked her fingers, ‘without Erik.’
‘Helen remembers you. I can kind of remember you doing ads for cornflakes or wheat flakes or something.’ He said it smiling, trying to make her feel better.
They sat in opposite positions to how they’d shared the wine earlier, Jake on the right verandah post, Ella on the left, glaring at him, the plate of broken crackers between them.
‘I hated those ads. I stopped doing them.’
‘Why? They weren’t so bad.’
‘They were fake,’ Ella burst out. ‘They were so fake. Me playing happy families. God—’
She could have kept going. She could have let the last three months of loneliness, fears and hopes pour out, because Jake had a look on his face like he was ready to listen, and she had months and years of frustration ready to overflow and there was something about him that made her feel she could talk, but there was a vehicle rumbling over Chalk Hill Bridge. A late-model silver four-wheel-drive, slowing to a stop on the opposite side of Chalk Hill Bridge Road.
Through dark tinted windows she couldn’t see the driver, but she had the sense of a face peering out at the house, and beside her, in the same breath as the driver’s car door opened and the driver stepped out, Jake tensed.
‘Do you know him?’ Ella asked, because Jake knew everyone. Even Erik, now.
‘Yeah. I know him,’ Jake said, pushing up to his feet. ‘Get your game face on.’
Ella stood to dust off her skirt. Was there time to sweep crackers from the step? She decided ‘yes’ and leapt for the broom. At the same time, Jake back-pedalled towards the sander and the extension cord, and the two of them bumped like clumsy penguins chasing the same fish. Ella, being lighter, rebounded harder with an audible ‘oomph’.
Jake reached out to steady her, catching her lower arm. His muscles worked to halt her momentum, and Ella looked down to where his hand curled protectively about her wrist. Next to his arm, dark with summer tan, covered with a smatter of hairs, her skin was white, soft and smooth.
‘I’m not too late?’ The visitor’s cultured drawl carried to Ella from the path, and it tore her attention from the differences between Jake’s wrist and her own.
‘You’re not too late at all. Please come in. I’m Ella. Would you like a glass of wine?’
‘Sure. Only I might skip the crackers and cheese.’ He opened his hand towards the crumbs and biscuits scattered across the steps and the grass.
Ella ducked her chin. ‘I’m sorry about that. There’s more inside if you’d like. This packet came a bit of a cropper.’
‘I’ll leave you to it, Ella,’ Jake cut in, hefting the sander, the cord and the spare sheets of sandpaper. He nodded to her, nodded to the man, said, ‘Henry,’ rather brusquely, then left.
Henry mounted the steps. He wore tan-coloured workboots under black jeans and a short-sleeved checked blue, grey and white shirt. Unlike Jake, whose every step Ella heard as he trudged to the gate, this guy moved quiet as a cat.
‘Henry Graham, Ella.’ He held out his hand and Ella shook it.
‘Pleased to meet you.’
‘Have you had a lot of people through?’
‘A fair bit of interest, yes,’ Ella fibbed. ‘It’s a prime position. You can see how close we are to town here, and it’s a lovely view of the bridge, don’t you think?’
Obligingly, Henry turned to take a look at the bridge.
‘Please come in. Feel free to have a wander through. I’ll get you that glass of wine.’ Ella opened the front door and Henry entered Irma’s house.
Out on the road, Jake’s engine fired and Ella got a lonely little pang in her chest, knowing he’d gone.
CHAPTER
9
Ella burst through the front door of the rental house half an hour later, looking for someone, anyone to tell her news …
The house sat still and quiet.
She shoved her handbag in its customary corner of the kitchen counter, tucked the remaining half-bottle of Chardonnay in the fridge and pulled off her heels. The butterfly clip came next and she shook out her hair; it was growing longer now, almost long enough to plait.
Where was everybody?
A shout from outside tugged her towards the rear of the house. Through the windows, she could see Erik and Sam wrestling, and she smiled. Even with one arm, Erik had always been the master of the wrestle, but Sam was growing stronger. The contests were more even.
Sam had a huge grin on his face, and Sam’s grin was more important than her news about a possible offer on the Honeychurch house.
Ella left them to it. Her news could wait.
In her bedroom, she threw off the rest of her day, swapping the skirt and shirt for a tank top and shorts, before slipping a pair of flat sandals on her feet and heading back to the kitchen to take another look at the vastly improved state of her fridge.
There were all sorts of bags and packages making the shelves groan under the weight. German specialty ingredients. Sausage.
