Flying the Coop (38 page)

One of which was whether Mac now living next door meant it was likely he and Dot might get back together. And was this good or bad? Then there was Christmas which, now that she had been reminded of its proximity, raised all sorts of questions. Like would there be another argument between her and Garth over who had the kids for the day? And would the egg sales increase by the arbitrary Christmas deadline that she had set and, if not, would anyone think less of her if she just sort of extended that deadline a trifle? And could she afford to?

Then there was the question of Mac: since he was injured, would he be able to drive up to Sydney for Christmas? Do ribs heal that quickly at his age? And if Mac
didn't
drive to Sydney, did that mean Dot would go up there instead? Or maybe she would stay back here to look after Mac and maybe,
just maybe, Neil would have to come down here if he wanted to see his parents. Chris caught herself smiling that slow smile again and gave herself a mental telling-off. For goodness sake, she had never even
met
the man. All she knew was that he was rather good looking, probably quite tall if he took after his father, had a great sense of humour, and was terrific fun to correspond with. Well, said a sneaky little voice from deep inside, isn't that enough?

To take her mind off Neil, Chris tried to tune back into the conversation that was flowing merrily around her, but the topic under discussion now appeared to be whether Rose should give her soon to be ex-husband another chance. Especially since it seemed that the reason he had ‘dutched' her in the first place was because she had refused to let his mother stay in their house when the elderly woman had visited from New Zealand. As Chris didn't really know Rose, or her husband, or her husband's mother, this conversation held little interest. She laid her arm on the balcony wall and gazed down at the riverfront instead.

As always in the warmer weather, the place was a hive of activity. There was a constant stream of people crossing the bridge over the Yarra, many on their way to or from the aquarium, others just out for a stroll. Every now and again the pace was broken by a couple of joggers, or a solitary bike-rider, weaving his or her way through the throng of walkers. Several teenagers sat on the concrete ramparts abutting the river, swinging their legs and chatting idly as they watched. It was a typical Melbourne afternoon – a tapestry of different people, and different activities, all taking place independently yet somehow, and simultaneously, interlinked.

Chris took a sip of her wine and suddenly realised that the afternoon was dragging. And the thought of the next few hours spent here, listening to everyone's relationship woes, was
about as appealing as watching
Australian Princess
, or some other ghastly second-rate reality show. Hot on the heels of this realisation was a second one – that, actually, she didn't want to be here. Not only that, but she didn't even want to stay in the city tonight, at Ebony's or anywhere else around here. It wasn't that she didn't still enjoy everyone's company, it was just that there was too much going on at the moment to relax here. Away from it all. She needed to be home to see what was happening with the sales, and with Dot and Mac, and with the new system of collecting egg payments. Then there was Howard. She should never have left him there with the new oldies, especially as it seemed he had now become especially vicious. And Ergo – after all, he had only just become friendly with her, so if she spent a whole weekend away, didn't she run the risk of alienating him all over again?

Chris shook her head in amazement. She had been given the chance of a weekend away, of relaxation and gossip and absolutely no pressure. And she was about to give it all up to return to a place where her only company would be a multitude of chooks, an alpaca and an elderly couple who might or might not be courting. But alongside her amazement was a relief that she had decided not to stay. Because she didn't really want to be here. And there was no point forcing herself to stay somewhere when the place she really wanted to be was just waiting for her.

Just under two hours later, Chris pulled into the driveway and parked in her customary spot by the willow. She tugged her overnight bag out of the boot and decided to leave all the gifts there to bring in a little later. On the way past the cooler, she had a look to see how sales had been but it didn't tell her much. Just that there was minimal change in the honesty jar and two
cartons on the shelves. That could be good, if Dot had restocked it, or bad, if that was all that had been placed in there for the day.

Chris unlocked the front door and walked into a strangely silent house. She stood in the entry and gazed up into the dark well of the staircase and then down the passage towards the kitchen. Dot was obviously not in residence because even the kitchen light was off. Chris took a deep breath of home and smiled with contentment. Then, leaving her bag by her bedroom door, she walked through to the kitchen. A glance at the clock told her that it was just past five, which meant that Dot, and Mac if he was up to helping, would probably be out in the barn finishing up the processing. Deciding to offer her assistance, Chris walked through the office and put out her hand to push open the screen door when she heard voices from the veranda. She dropped her hand again and paused to listen.

‘. . . was surprised when y'sister moved down to Rosebud.' Mac sounded relaxed.

‘Me too.' Dot's voice was also comfortable and unperturbed. ‘Often thought about going down there myself.'

‘Ah.' Mac paused for a few seconds. ‘Glad you didn't.'

‘
Pfft
.'

‘You
still
do that?' said Mac, amused. There was a click of his lighter and then, shortly afterwards, the smell of his hand-rolled cigarettes.

‘And you still do
that
. It'll kill you, you know.'

‘Somethin's gotta.'

‘Why'd you keep her on?'

There was a long silence after Dot asked this question but she didn't reiterate, just let the query hang in the air between them. Nor did Mac ask her to explain who she meant. It was obvious. Finally he answered.

‘Had to 'ave someone to do th'paperwork, didn't I?'

‘Not good enough.'

Mac paused again and then sighed. ‘No, it's not. I was angry, I s'pose. Wanted to show you I didn't need you. It was bloody stupid. Neil told me I was a fool.'

‘He was right,' replied Dot shortly.

‘Yep, 'e was. But I paid for it, you know. Had to put up with th'bloody woman for near fifteen years. Always creepin' round th'house and telling me it needed a woman's touch and all. Christ.'

‘And what was she doing here this morning? I saw her car out the front.'

‘Oh
that
.' Mac chuckled. ‘I reckon she waited till Red's car was gone to come round. Demanded th'hen I promised her. And asked me if th'rumour was true that I'd moved back in with you. Doesn't take long, hey?'

‘No. And?'

‘I gave her th'damn chook. In fact, I 'ad one that was just perfect – 'oward? Nasty little blighter. They should make a good pair.'

‘They certainly should.' Dot laughed, but without humour. ‘And the other?'

‘What other?' Mac tried, and failed, to sound innocent.

‘The rumour. What'd you tell her?'

‘Well . . . I told 'er it was true. Now, now! Don't get up on your 'igh 'orse, woman! 'twas only to get th'damn 'arpy off me back.'

‘Well, don't you go telling anyone else we're back t'gether. Because we're
not
.'

‘What about last night then? What was that?'

Chris's eyes widened and her mouth dropped open in shock. Mac and Dot? Last night? She shook her head as she tried to clear the rather disturbing image from her head. And then came the logistics – apart from anything else, the man had three broken ribs!

‘That was just for old time's sake.' Dot's voice was prudish. ‘As soon as your ribs have healed, you're gone.'

‘Not too bad for an old bloke though, hey?' Mac said complacently. ‘Injured 'n all.'

‘Wasn't too bad. Had better.'

‘
What
!' Mac's voice changed in an instant. ‘Was it bloody Ken? Was it?
Tell
me!'

‘None of your business.' Now it was Dot's turn to sound complacent.

‘I'll
kill
'im! Glad I threw th'bastard out! Mowing
my
damn lawn!'

‘What! I'm your
lawn
, am I? Well, I'll give you bloody lawn! As soon as the doctor says it's okay, you're out of my house. Straight away!'

There was a silence for a few moments and then Mac's voice came, sounding a lot calmer and more than a little mischievous: ‘What if I don't go?' He chuckled and then said, in a far more serious voice: ‘I'm gonna do what I should 'ave done fifteen years ago, Dorrie –'

‘What? Keep your trousers on?'

‘There is that,' acknowledged Mac. ‘But what's done is done. And now I'm going to woo you and win you all over again. You'll see.'

‘Woo away, mate,' said Dot sharply. ‘It won't do you any good.'

Chris had heard enough. Besides, if Dot was annoyed, there was a very real risk that she would stalk inside at any moment. Chris backed quietly out of the office and into the kitchen. Once there, she picked up the change tin off the table, noting absently that it was quite heavy, and rattled it loudly. Then she thumped her feet several times for good measure. The voices outside immediately stopped and, a few seconds later, the screen door could be heard opening.

‘Chris, love! I
thought
I heard someone in here.' Dot smiled welcomingly. ‘What happened to staying in the city for the night?'

‘Oh, I just wasn't in the mood. What are you up to?'

‘We're sitting out on the veranda having a drink. Come join us.'

‘Definitely. I'll be out in a minute.' Chris made herself a scotch and coke and took it through the office onto the veranda. Dot had moved one of the kitchen chairs out there and was sitting in it with Mac nearby in the papasan chair. Geraldine and two stubbies of beer were by his side. He grinned when he saw her.

‘Can't keep away from th'place, hey, Red?'

‘Something like that.' Chris gave Geraldine a pat, then sat down on the veranda floor and leant back against the railings, straightening out her skirt. She took a sip of her scotch and smiled contentedly.

‘Well, you timed it good at any rate. We only just finished th'processin'.'

‘Even better.' Chris grinned at him, and then at Dot. ‘And thank you both so much for looking after everything. It's really much appreciated. How are the ribs, Mac?'

‘I'll live.' Mac flicked a wicked glance at Dot. ‘Though I think I may 'ave strained 'em a bit last night.'

‘How on earth did you do that?' asked Chris innocently. ‘Dot – you didn't make him overdo things, did you?'

Dot flushed while Mac chortled quietly to himself. The chortle turned into a rather racking cough that went on for a few minutes. Geraldine looked up at him with concern. As soon as he got himself under control, Mac fished out his tobacco pouch, stuck a paper on his bottom lip and started sorting out the correct amount of tobacco. Chris took another sip of scotch.

‘Well, are you going t'ask us how sales went today?' Dot was grinning expectantly.

‘I can tell by your face that they were good. So – how good?'

‘Very good,' replied Mac. ‘Very,
very
good.'

‘Twenty-three dozen,' added Dot.

‘Twenty-three
dozen
!' Chris stared at them, amazed. ‘You're joking!'

‘No. Twenty-three dozen up till about an hour ago.' Mac was grinning too. ‘Haven't checked since so it could well be more.'

‘Oh my god.'

‘But don't think that'll happen every day,' warned Mac, knocking some ash off his cigarette into one of the stubbies, obviously an empty one.

Dot nodded in agreement. ‘That's right. At the moment you've got the curious, who you'll never see again, and the ones who mean well. They'll come by a few times t'do the right thing, but then eventually they'll just buy at the supermarket again coz it's cheaper and easier.'

‘Still . . .' said Chris slowly, thinking through the ramifications of increased sales.

‘Yeah, still it's a good sign,' said Mac complacently. ‘And we've 'ad two businesses from Healesville ring to say they'll stock th'eggs. Dorrie's written their details down.'

‘They're in the office,' added Dot. ‘And Beryl from the general store rang t'ask for more eggs too. She's sold the lot.'

Mac nodded with satisfaction. ‘Bloody 'mazing what some decent publicity can do.'

‘Absolutely,' said Chris wholeheartedly. She couldn't quite believe it.

‘Thanks t'Neil,' added Dot, with a sideways glance at Chris. ‘And that reminds me, I was speaking t'him last night.'

‘Really?'

‘Yes. Fancy you two corresponding like that and I never knew.'

‘Dot, it was just an email here and there. He was very helpful.'

‘That's me boy.' Mac glanced at Chris appraisingly. ‘And he always did like redheads.'

‘Yes.' Dot, too, was gazing at Chris rather solemnly.

Chris glanced from Mac to Dot, feeling increasingly awkward under their concerted stare. She attempted to break the mood. ‘Well, the colour of my hair is immaterial anyway, seeing as we're just pen-pals. Now, does anyone want another drink?'

‘Not for me.' Dot stopped looking at Chris and levered her bulk out of the kitchen chair. ‘Better head home. Time t'start dinner.'

‘I've got a better idea.' Mac shoved the cigarette butt down the neck of the empty stubbie. ‘Why don't I take the two of you out for dinner? We'll paint the town red.'