Dinner at Rose's (34 page)

‘What time is it?’ Matt asked, not moving at all.

‘Ten to two. Matt,
help
me, I’ve lost my shirt.’

‘Hall,’ he murmured, rolling onto his stomach.

He had managed, by the time I’d scrambled into my clothes, to push himself up to sit on the edge of his bed. ‘Come here.’

‘I can’t – I’m
late
. . .’

‘Jo, love, you can’t go back to work like that.’ He pulled me back towards him, unbuttoned my shirt and began to do it up straight. ‘Better do something about your hair, too.’

‘Where’s your hairbrush?’ I asked, pulling down the tangled snarl of hair that had been, half an hour before, a tidy and professional knot at the nape of my neck.

‘Haven’t got one.’

‘Ah. That would explain this sexy unkempt look you’ve been working.’

He grinned. ‘Thank you. You’re doing quite a good job of sexy and unkempt yourself.’

‘You’re really not all that helpful,’ I told him severely. I scraped my hair back into a ponytail, took his face in my hands and kissed him. ‘I love you.’ I turned and dashed up the hall.

He ran down the back steps as I started the car, wearing his jeans but no shirt and carrying two little paper bags. I wound down the window and he passed in my pie and apple turnover. ‘You can eat them on the way,’ he said, and leant in the window to kiss me. ‘See you tonight.’

I backed the car round, put it into first and looked up to see Bob McIntosh, his face a mask of shock, opening the door of his little truck.
Oh, shit
, I thought, followed by,
Well, I don’t know how else I was ever going to get rid of him
. Feeling like the kind of person who kicks puppies for fun, I waved as I sped past.

Chapter 30

I
T WAS ONE
of those nerve-racking afternoons when you start off running quarter of an hour late and then everything you do takes longer than you think it will. Somewhere between Mrs Mayhew’s thoracic spine pain and Greg Turner’s torn calf muscle I heard Kim’s voice, but I didn’t have time to stick my head out and say hello.

At three minutes past five I farewelled my last client and hurriedly shut down the computer in the consulting room. ‘Amber,’ I said, going out the front, ‘can you call Ben Frazer and tell him his brace has arrived? Maybe you could leave it at the petrol station for him – I’d better run.’

Amber nodded, and Kim picked up her school bag and asked, ‘Can I have a lift home?’

‘Yep,’ I said. ‘But I’ve got to go to the supermarket first.’

‘That’s cool. See you, Amber.’

Amber jerked one shoulder in what could perhaps have been construed as a farewell.

‘What’s her problem?’ Kim asked as she climbed into the car. ‘She’s acting really weird even for her.’

I threw the car into reverse and executed a rapid three-point turn. ‘Crush on your boyfriend.’

Kim squirmed, cat-like, to get comfortable. ‘I guess he is,’ she said with satisfaction. ‘He introduced me to his flat-mates last night.’

‘Good sign,’ I remarked.

‘Yeah. Hey, Josie?’

‘Mm?’

‘You do know Matt’ll be still milking? You’ve got time to get home and shave your legs; there’s no need to drive like a maniac.’

‘I just don’t want to leave Aunty Rose by herself for too long, Miss Smarty Pants. I was late last night, and it wasn’t good.’

Kim pulled her knees up to her chin and hugged them. ‘She’s got so sick so fast,’ she said unhappily. ‘Just like Dad.’

I took my left hand off the steering wheel for a second and touched her arm. ‘Oh, Kim.’

‘Yeah, well, life’s a bitch.’ She scrubbed at her eyes with the back of her hand. ‘At least you and Matt are here this time.’

WE FLEW AROUND
the supermarket, Kim pushing the trolley and me hurling in groceries. ‘Vanilla custard,’ she ordered. ‘Aunty Rose likes it.’

I plucked a carton from the shelf along with two tubs of Greek yoghurt, and we sped around the corner into the bakery section to run smack into Bob McIntosh. I couldn’t believe it – twice in one afternoon. He had a basket over one arm containing three tins of the very cheapest brand of cat food and a jar of marmalade, and he ricocheted gently off the front of the trolley into a perspex-fronted cabinet full of muffins.

‘Sorry!’ said Kim.

Bob shot me one miserable, accusing look, hunched his shoulders and scuttled off Gollum-like towards the frozen goods.

‘I didn’t hit him
that
hard,’ Kim said. ‘He’s really strange.’

‘Yes,’ I said. Bob must truly have thought, despite all evidence to the contrary, that one of these days I would fall gratefully into his arms. I should have realised, and tried harder to discourage him.

As we turned up the valley, leaving the last of Waimanu’s streetlights behind us, Kim said conversationally, ‘So you
were
in love with Matt the whole time. You dirty rotten liar.’

‘Unless you’re prepared to walk, you shouldn’t insult the driver.’

She completely ignored this empty threat. ‘All that “stop it, you guys, he’s one of my best friends and you’re ruining it”.’ This was said in a simpering little bleat that bore, I devoutly hoped, no resemblance whatsoever to my actual voice. ‘Josie, you should be ashamed of yourself.’

‘One day I hope you’ll find it in your heart to forgive me,’ I said.

‘I may,’ said Kim regally. ‘Eventually. Can’t have been much fun watching him go home with Cilla.’

I gave a little snort of laughter. ‘Not much.’

‘Josie?’

‘Mm?’

‘Don’t be too hard on him, will you? He was only going out with her because she’d have kicked up such a stink if he’d broken up with her, and he didn’t think you liked him anyway.’

‘I know,’ I said. ‘It’s okay.’

‘Good,’ said Kim. ‘Hey, Josie?’

‘Yeah?’

‘Are you on the pill?’

‘Kim!’ I protested.

‘I’m not asking about your sex life. I was just wondering . . .’

‘Oh,’ I said. ‘No, I’m not at the moment. Are you thinking about going on it yourself?’ I hoped I didn’t sound as dismayed as I felt.

‘Well, yeah, maybe.’ She pulled the tie out of her sleek dark plait and shook her head vigorously. ‘Does it make you get really fat?’

‘No,’ I told her. ‘I think the old-fashioned pills might have, but not these days.’

‘So I just go to the chemist?’

‘You’ve got to go to the doctor. They take your blood pressure and explain it all – what to do if you miss a pill, and all that kind of stuff. But most people use condoms to start with.’

Kim drummed her fingers against the window moodily. ‘I don’t know why I’m asking. He won’t have sex with me anyway.’

‘Won’t he?’ I asked. I wasn’t at all sure I was equipped to be Kim’s confidante and romantic adviser.

‘He won’t even
kiss
me until I’ve done my homework.’

I tried so hard to stay gravely sympathetic that it hurt, but alas, my efforts were in vain.

‘It’s not funny!’ Kim wailed.

‘Yes,’ I gasped, ‘it is. Sorry – sorry, I’m stopping.’

‘Rachel says boys
always
want to. Maybe he doesn’t like me very much.’

I pulled myself together with an effort. Nobody in their right mind would ask Hazel for boyfriend advice, Aunty Rose was terminally ill and Rachel’s knowledge had been gleaned from the pages of
Cosmopolitan
. Equipped or not, I was it. ‘Of course he likes you,’ I said. ‘Come on, you must be able to tell.’

‘Well, I thought he did, but . . .’ She stopped and sighed heavily.

‘Kimlet, you’ve only been going out for a week.’

‘Ten days,’ she corrected.

‘Don’t you think that any bloke who wanted to sleep with you after you’d been going out together for ten days would be a bit dodgy?’ I said.

Kim shrugged one shoulder and said nothing.

‘Why the rush, anyway? What’s wrong with just hanging out together for a while and seeing if it’s going to be a good thing?’

‘It’s just – Josie, I don’t want him to think I’m a silly little kid and go and find someone else instead!’

Ah, of course. Like the last one did. ‘Well,’ I said, ‘I don't think Andy would do that, but if he was to wander off and find someone else I reckon you’d feel worse about it if you had slept with him.’

Kim muttered something inaudible in the direction of her feet.

‘If he’s supervising your homework, he obviously thinks you’re going to be together for a good long time,’ I said bracingly.

‘How do you come to
that
conclusion?’

‘Well, if you get a good education you’ll be able to get some incredibly well paid job, and he’ll be able to give up work entirely and go hunting while you support him. I’m sure he’s thought it all out.’

‘Josie,’ she said, ‘do you realise you’re a complete idiot?’

‘Your brother points that out quite often.’

‘Well, he’s right.’

‘Don’t tell him that; it might go to his head.’ We were driving up the last straight, a thicket of wet black poplar trunks on one side and Matt’s dairy supply sign reflecting back at us on the other. ‘Are you coming up to Aunty Rose’s now, or do you want me to drop you at home?’

‘Aunty Rose’s. I’ll make dinner while you have a shower and condition your pubic hair.’

I opened my mouth to reply, thought better of it and closed it again.

‘I saw it on an old episode of
Friends
,’ Kim explained. ‘I reckon it sounds like quite a good idea.’

LADEN WITH GROCERY
bags we threaded our way through the welcoming crowd of dogs and pig, and let ourselves into the kitchen. Aunty Rose was standing at the kitchen bench with a block of cheese in her hand, but her movements as she grated it were halting and very, very tired. This was no longer the brisk and energetic cook who, with sleeves trailing through the gravy, served sausage and prune bourguignon to her hapless guests.

‘Sweet peas,’ she said, turning to smile at us. Percy gave a wistful grunt through the open door behind us and she moved slowly across the room to pat him. ‘I have neglected you, dear boy. Josephine, where is the pigscratching fork?’

I fished through the fruit bowl, filled with power bills and notifications of road closures for the Targa Rally and other random bits of paper, and found the fork at the bottom.

‘Thank you,’ said Aunty Rose. Leaning against the doorframe, she applied herself to Percy’s back.

‘What’s for tea?’ I asked, kissing her cheek and beginning to unpack the groceries. There was a most enticing smell of roasting meat.

‘Dinner. One of Andy’s pork roasts, and I thought I’d make that lovely potato dish with the sour cream and garlic.’

I cast a wary eye at the earthenware dish on the bench. ‘What did you use instead of sour cream?’

‘Yoghurt,’ said Aunty Rose.

I stood quite still for a moment, a bag of peanuts in one hand and a tin of spaghetti in the other. ‘Honestly?’

‘Would I lie to you, Josephine?’

‘It’s almost as good,’ Kim said from the bench where she was tipping loose tea leaves into the battered tin caddy. ‘
And
it’s healthier.’

‘But we only had strawberry yoghurt.’

‘I added a little lemon juice to cut the sweetness,’ Aunty Rose assured me.

Kim and I looked at one another and collapsed into hysterical laughter.