Jilted (18 page)

‘So, what did you discuss? Are you, you know, seeing him again?’

‘It’s not like that,’ Ellie rushed. ‘We’re not dating.’ The truth in her words hurt her more than they should. ‘We’re just friends. It’s nice.’

‘Is it?’

Although Ellie focused on the road, she felt Mat’s eyes boring into the side of her head. She gulped and tightened her grip on the steering wheel. She couldn’t talk about this, not now, not with Matilda. Not when her belly was fluttering at the mere mention of
him
. She pointedly changed the subject. ‘What are your plans for the arvo?’

Mat took the hint. ‘Are you still cooking with Joyce?’

‘She’s going to teach me how to make a caramel slice and then, if I conquer that, we might try a batch of scones.’

‘Sounds delicious. I might keep out of your way then. Have a quick rest and start sorting my stuff.’

‘Your stuff?’ Ellie thought of the cottage, swollen to the brim with knick-knacks and souvenirs from Mat’s expeditions around the globe. ‘What do you mean?’

Mat sighed. ‘I’m not getting any younger. These feet have shown me that, and I just thought –’

‘Anyone can break bones, Mat,’ Ellie interrupted. She refused to think about Matilda getting old. ‘It’s not a reflection of your age, more your stubborn-mindedness – believing you can do everything without help.’

‘Still, it’s got me thinking. You’re all I’ve got in this world. And you’re busy with your own life. I’d hate to think of my leaving you with all that junk to get rid of.’

‘As if!’ Ellie shrieked in outcry. ‘You have treasures, not junk. I’d never get rid of it.’

‘Get serious, girl, you couldn’t keep it all in that tiny apartment of yours. I was thinking there might be certain things you’d like to keep as a reminder of me. And while you’re here, well, this is a good time to do a clear-out. That way you can let me know what you’d like when I’m –’

‘Don’t say it. You can spring-clean if you like, but all this morbid chatter is creeping me out.’

When they got home, Ellie settled Mat on the couch to rest her legs for a while. She made them both sandwiches and scoffed hers down in record time, wanting to get the kitchen prepared for Joyce.

‘Ready to cook up a storm?’ Joyce was punctual as usual, arriving at two on the dot, her arms laden with recipe books. Not the type that Ellie had been given by friends who liked to pretend they could cook; there wasn’t a Jamie Oliver or Nigella Lawson in sight. No, Joyce’s books were old and splattered with food stains and smelled like homemade delights.

‘Definitely.’ Ellie opened the screen door and took some of the heavy load. She knew if anyone could teach her to make something actually worth eating, it was Joyce.

‘How’s Mat?’ Joyce asked, pushing her large sunglasses up over her head and peering into the living room. Ellie looked in behind her to see Matilda propped up by half a dozen mismatched cushions, her mouth gaping. She was already fast asleep.

‘Tired,’ Ellie answered, frowning. ‘She’s sick of the crutches and not being able to do anything – she hates to be so dependent on me. Hopefully the doc has good news when we see her next week.’

‘Hmm.’ Joyce pursed her lips as if thinking deeply about something. ‘Will you go back to Sydney soon, do you think?’

Sydney
. Ellie’s heart froze in her chest. Of course that was what she’d do. She couldn’t go on like this forever – pottering from day to day, effectively jobless. Three-and-a-half weeks ago she’d landed in Hope Junction, wanting nothing more than for time to speed by so she could leave. But this holiday from city life had been surprisingly fabulous. Now the thought of packing up again, of saying goodbye to Matilda, to the town, and to Flynn, put her in a panic. The thought of leaving before the play was awful too – she felt part of that now, completely.

‘Umm, I haven’t really given it much thought. I mean, I’m enjoying myself, and I’d really like to get my mentees a little closer to their debut.’

Joyce grinned. ‘So good old Hope isn’t that bad after all?’

‘No.’ Ellie tried to keep a straight face. ‘It has its merits.’

‘Right, then, let’s get to work.’

Joyce and Ellie spent the better part of the afternoon baking, and Ellie found it a strangely relaxing pastime. Joyce was easy to get along with – Ellie was glad Mat had such a good friend close by, it made thinking about her return to Sydney that tiny bit easier.
Joyce was also a fabulous teacher, and pretty soon Ellie was surveying the kitchen table with a large smile. The spread was – if she said so herself – splendid. Alongside the caramel slice and the oversized scones was a rich, chocolate mud cake. Joyce praised Ellie’s enthusiasm. What she didn’t know was that mud cake was a long-time favourite of Flynn’s, and that Ellie had lovingly toiled all afternoon with him in mind.

Some time between the scones and the mud cake, Matilda woke up and shuffled into the kitchen to watch. She seemed exhausted despite having slept about four hours, and Ellie couldn’t help but notice Joyce fuss over her. Ellie wondered if there was something else going on. She was probably making mountains out of molehills but, nevertheless, she made a mental note to talk to Joyce about it soon.

The opportunity didn’t come that afternoon, though. Joyce stuck around until tea time, and the three of them pored over Mat’s old photo albums and travel journals until it was time to go to rehearsal.

Ellie grinned as the first full rehearsal came to a close. She applauded as loud as she could, as did Matilda, Joyce, Mrs Ellery, Flynn, Troy and Sam. The thirteen actors still had a fair bit of work to do before opening night – a mere five weeks away – but they’d come such a long way since they started. Ellie couldn’t help but be proud of the part she’d played in their improvement. Everyone deserved the celebratory supper they were enjoying that evening, and as Ellie helped Joyce lay out the food on a couple of old trestle tables, she was glad she’d been able to contribute.

But glad didn’t begin to describe the emotion she felt when Flynn sidled up to her, his hand full of a slice of mud cake. She
rubbed her lips together, waiting for him to take a bite. When he did, she watched his reaction closely.

‘Phwoar,’ he said as he swallowed the first mouthful, his eyeballs almost glazing over. ‘This is heaven. Joyce is amazing.’

‘That she is,’ Ellie smiled, resisting the urge to wipe a crumb from Flynn’s lip. The last thing she needed was to feel her skin against his. ‘But, as it happens, that’s one of my creations.’

‘Really? I didn’t know you could cook.’

‘I’d like to tell you I’m a whiz like Joyce but, fact is, I’m only learning.’ She shrugged. ‘I like it though, and seeing a reaction like yours makes even the washing up seem worthwhile.’

‘In that case, I’ll have to get you to make another.’

‘That’d be the test. This one could have been a fluke.’

‘So, you didn’t cook much in Sydney, then?’

Ellie shook her head. ‘Not unless you count scrambled eggs. I’m usually so exhausted after filming that I can’t be stuffed cooking a meal for one. Guess I never really gave myself the chance to find out if I was any good.’

‘How did you get the gig on
Lake Street
?’ he asked, swiping another slice of cake from the table and leaning back against the wall. He looked like he was willing to listen for the long haul. Ellie loved the idea of having Flynn’s undivided attention, but she was wary of the vibes he’d been giving off about her acting. This was the first time he’d spoken of it without the muscles in his neck constricting. ‘You never mentioned you wanted to act to me,’ he added, and she’d be an imbecile not to notice the pitch of accusation in his voice.

‘That’s because the idea never really crossed my mind,’ she answered, honestly. It wasn’t very feminist of her to admit it – so she rarely did – but back then she hadn’t thought much about a career of her own. She’d just assumed she’d work with Flynn on the farm, his partner in every way. ‘It just kinda fell into place.’

He raised a sceptical brow. ‘Lucy reckons she wants to become an actor. She’s under the impression it’s a hard profession to get into.’

‘She’s wise beyond her years, that little sister of yours. And she’s right, but there’s an exception to every rule, and you’re looking at her.’

‘So what happened?’

Ellie told him the story of arriving in New South Wales without knowing a soul, barely a penny to her name. How she’d taken a bed at the first hostel she’d come across and found a job the next day at the pub down the road.

The thought that things had fallen into place for Ellie from the day she left was a heavy one. Flynn ignored the twinge in his heart and focused on her words. She spoke about being an extra before getting a permanent place on
Lake Street
. Her history was interesting as long as he forced himself to forget that her career had been at the expense of a life with him. He listened as if she were someone he’d just met. He could do this, he could talk about her job, her life, and not feel completely bitter about it. Still, when a pause came in the conversation, he welcomed the opportunity to escape.

‘It’s getting late. I better be getting Lucy home.’

‘Sorry for rabbiting on,’ Ellie said, tucking her hair behind her ear.

‘No, I enjoyed it,’ he lied. Even if it were bad for him, he liked being around her – that he couldn’t deny – it was talking about her other life that irked him. ‘But Luce has exams soon and needs her rest.’

‘Fair enough.’ Ellie nodded and they both glanced around the room. There was no sign of Lucy. Flynn frowned, but relaxed a little
when he saw Troy polishing off the scones at the other end of the table. ‘Maybe she’s popped to the toilet,’ Ellie said, as if reading his mind. ‘Do you want me to go check?’

‘Yes please.’ He tapped his boots against the dusty floor for what seemed like forever, waiting for Ellie to return. When she did, Lucy was not by her side.

‘Well?’ he asked.

‘Not there.’ She pursed her lips, her eyes twinkling as if she were trying to smother a smile.

‘What’s so funny?’ he asked.

‘I think you’d better come with me.’

‘Don’t play games, Ellie. Did you find her?’

‘Yes, well, not in the bathroom, so I checked outside. She’s fine.’ Ellie touched his arm slightly and nodded in the direction of the main doors, urging him to follow. Feeling like a cranky old man, he did so. Pressing one index finger to her lips, Ellie used the other to point into the shadows. Flynn narrowed his eyes, trying to make out the details in the dingy alley.

‘Is that who I think it is? Is that
what
I think it is?’ His stomach churning, he tried to charge forward but Ellie had a surprisingly firm grip on his arm.

‘Shh,’ she hissed, but neither his voice nor hers appeared to be a problem. Lucy and Sam were altogether too consumed in each other to notice anyone else.
Sam?
And he’d thought Troy was the one to watch.

‘I can’t just stand here and watch him grope her,’ Flynn whispered, yanking his arm free.

‘He’s not groping her.’

‘As good as,’ Flynn scoffed. His eyes boggled as Sam’s hand disappeared from view. ‘That’s it.’

‘We did much worse, Flynn.’ This stilled him for a moment as red-hot memories came rushing back. Oh boy, had they done
much worse. And enjoyed every fucking moment of it. But this was Lucy, this was …

‘She’s my little sister, Ellie. I have to do
something.’

‘Flynn.’ Ellie’s voice was low but firm. ‘Will Lucy appreciate it if you go barging over there? She’s seventeen. If you don’t want to alienate her, you’ll give her some privacy. Let’s go back inside and call her mobile.’

Her words made some degree of sense, but they did nothing to release the tension in his body. He clenched his fists and looked at Ellie. ‘What if she gets pregnant?’

‘Last time I checked, you couldn’t get pregnant from kissing, Flynn.’

‘You know what I mean.’ Still, her humour worked to relax him a little.

‘Look, if you’d like, I could have a talk with her,’ Ellie suggested. ‘Friend to friend, rather than big bro to little sis. She might be more receptive if
I
check she knows all about … being careful.’

Flynn let out a frustrated growl and ran his fingers through his hair. He didn’t want to think about his little sister and contraception in the same sentence. ‘Okay, but sooner rather than later – Troy and Sam are coming over on Thursday to paint the set. Why don’t you come and help, engineer some way of talking to Lucy?’

‘Sounds good.’

‘Great.’ Yet Flynn felt only marginally better as he trekked back inside to call Lucy and break up the lovebirds.

Chapter Sixteen

On Thursday, Ellie collected Lucy, Troy and Sam from school so they’d get to Black Stump quicker than on the bus. As she cruised along the quiet, gravel roads, Troy sat in the front, munching on a packet of Smith’s chips and chatting to Ellie. He reminded her a lot of a young Flynn. His interests were definitely the same – food, football and his family’s farm – and their conversation helped keep her mind off what lay ahead. This would be her first proper visit to Black Stump – where she was once almost part of the furniture – since she’d left for Sydney. She’d ventured onto the periphery when she’d visited Flynn at his dam, but the location of his secret place meant she hadn’t had to drive by the homestead to get there. The swarm of blackbirds was back in her stomach.

Meanwhile, Lucy and Sam sat in the back, their arms around each other. They acted in a manner quite understandable for their age, but one that would, nevertheless, make Flynn’s blood boil. She pondered how she was going to get Lucy away from Sam, on her
own long enough to have that talk. She tried to ignore the fact that she was likely about to see Flynn’s mother and grandmother for the first time in ten years. By some small miracle, she hadn’t yet run into either of them in town.

Before she knew it, the impressive drywall bordering the entrance to Black Stump loomed into view. Ellie slowed the car up the potholed drive despite the urge to turn tail and speed back into town. The bumping of the car echoed the thumping in her heart. She tried to ignore both while reacquainting herself with the sights of Flynn’s world: the large wheat silos you could see from the road; the massive tin sheds not far from the homestead used to store feed; the wooden shearing shed, which had seen over a century of sheep seasons; and the old windmill that still turned with heavy gusts, but which hadn’t been used for years. She wound down the window and breathed in the scents of the farm – animals mixed with fresh, clean air – which she found more alluring than the most expensive perfumes. Aromas that had once been so comforting, but now only highlighted the fact she was really here and couldn’t turn back.