Nobody but Him (5 page)

‘So.’ Julia could hear the hesitation in her friend’s voice. ‘Have you decided what you’re going to do with the house?’

Julia shook her head. ‘I thought it would be easy, you know? To come back a year later and make a clean break. Pack up Mum’s things, sell the house and go home. I mean, Melbourne’s my life now. I’ve got a fantastic job. Great friends. It’s got awesome coffee and the best shopping in the country. It’s not like I ever plan to come back here to live or anything.’

Lizzie bit her lip and her face grew serious. ‘You never did want to stick around here, did you?’

She sighed. ‘No, I didn’t. But coming home … it’s been harder than I imagined. I still see Mum in every corner. It’s so much
her
house.’

Lizzie’s eyes glistened and Julia could feel the love and sympathy flow from her.

‘She was a wonderful woman, Jools. And she was so proud of everything you’ve done with your life.’

Julia took a deep breath to swallow a sob, swiped the tears from her cheeks with her pashmina. She still felt guilty about all the times she’d never come home, all those occasions when she’d avoided being in her home town. It was always easier to buy her mother an air ticket to Melbourne than to make the trip herself. Middle Point had always been full of too many memories.

‘Jools, I totally get that you’re the big-city girl you always wanted to be. And you wear it well, you really do. But it’s been twelve months already. Your choices are pretty obvious. Rent it or sell it.’

Lizzie was right, she knew. Her choices were clear. Keep one foot here and rent or sever all ties and sell. Julia shuddered at the word ‘sell’. Her emotions were still battling with her commonsense on that score. The house had been in her family for forty years, since her parents had married. They’d buried her father from that house when Julia was seventeen. Her childhood and her teenage years were in its walls. Yet, she had to be realistic. It was falling down around itself, hadn’t seen a decent lick of paint for twenty years, had leaking gutters and a kitchen that screamed vintage on the outside but clapped-out on the inside.

Her rational side was telling her to sell it for land value and get it over with. A beachfront property like that, one of the few remaining untouched old shacks on the esplanade, would sell in a flash to some city lawyer or surgeon who would flatten it and build another glass-and-steel eyesore. While she might not approve of their architectural choices, it would mean she could leave and never look back.

But. There was always a but. ‘The truth is, Lizzie, for about the first time in my life, I have no idea what I should do.’

‘You? Not know what to do? That’s unprecedented. I seem to recall that not only did you always know exactly what you wanted, but you tried to tell certain other people what they should do as well. Like cut off all their hair when they were fifteen to expose their cheekbones.’

‘I know you haven’t forgiven me, but you looked just like that girl we liked from
Dawson’s Creek
. Except taller. And perhaps not quite so pale.’

‘Lucky for me I stopped taking your fashion advice years ago. Too much black.’ Lizzie screwed up her nose. ‘You’ve got some time to think about what to do before you head back to Melbourne, don’t you? Perhaps some time to have a little fun with
moi
?’ Lizzie reached over to squeeze her hand.

‘I wouldn’t have it any other way. But I think we’d better find somewhere else to eat. I’m guessing I’m banned from the pub.’

Their laughter was carried in the breeze along the quietness of the street and echoed back at them. Julia let herself really breathe for the first time since she’d been back. There were a multitude of benefits about living in Melbourne. But she could never sit with Lizzie like this, safe in the comfort of her oldest friendship. And just be.

But. And there was another but. It was only temporary and she had to get practical real quick.

‘I have to spruce the place up a little, clean out Mum’s things. Does Kevin Higgins still work at that real estate agency in Port Elliot?’

‘Work there? He runs the place now. Look him up on the ’net. I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to help you out. You missed your chance there, Jools. He was a catch.’

‘Does he still surf?’ Julia remembered those board shorts and smiled.

‘Oh yeah, almost every morning. Still looks as good as he did back then, although all those years in the sun have made him a little … er … leathery.’

Their eyes met and they erupted into belly laughs.

‘Some things around here haven’t changed. He’ll be so impressed with what you do.’ Lizzie looked suddenly sheepish. ‘Look, I know your job is important and everything, but I just can’t see why people need to hire a crisis management consultant.’

‘Let me explain. When people are so far up shit creek without a paddle that they don’t know which way to turn, they call me. I tell them how to fix things and, if they’re smart, they do what I say.’

‘People pay you for telling them what to do?’

‘Yes, they certainly do.’

‘Mmm, impressive. Any juicy sex scandals?’

‘A few, but I was so good they never made the papers.’

‘Tell!’

‘If I told you, I’d have to kill you. State secrets and all that.’ Julia could feel a smug smile about to emerge but she didn’t care. ‘And you know what the best thing is?’

Lizzie leaned forward, her elbows on her knees, her eyes wide.

‘The same kind of people who wouldn’t have looked me in the eye
when I was the girl from Middle Point are now the ones paying me the big bucks to fix up their ‘inconveniences’. All those corporate types with pinstriped suits and fancy cars? They eat out of my hand.’

Lizzie leaned back in her chair. ‘And you love that, I can see.’

‘As a matter of fact, I do.’ The two friends clinked their coffee cups together once more in mock celebration. Julia knew Lizzie would get why the situation was so amusing for her. While Julia had been behind the counter at the general store in their teens, Lizzie had earned extra money as a cleaner at the local caravan park. They’d both been at the receiving end of shabby treatment from snobby city teenagers and their parents.

The trill of Lizzie’s phone interrupted them and she reached into her jeans pocket.

‘Oh, hi Ry.’

Julia suddenly found the view from Lizzie’s balcony intensely interesting, although she pricked up her ears to try to make out what was being said on the other end of the line.

‘Uh huh.’ Lizzie mouthed to Julia,
I have to work
.

Julia rolled her eyes and said loudly with the express purpose of making sure Ry Blackburn heard it, ‘Tell him you’ll be on to the union if he makes you work today.’

Lizzie frowned. ‘No Ry, it’s Julia. We’re just catching up for a coffee. She says hi.’ Lizzie grinned and poked her tongue out at Julia. ‘Yeah, okay, I can do it, no probs. See you soon.’

Lizzie tucked her phone away in her pocket and stood to collect the empty mugs. ‘He said hello back.’

‘I bet he did. Haven’t you been covering shifts during the week too? Why didn’t you tell him you can’t work? That you’re busy with an important interstate visitor.’

‘Because, one, he is my boss, and, two, he asked nicely.’

‘I’ve seen how nice he is to his staff. The phrase “unfair dismissal” springs to mind.’

‘I know he’s pissed at you, but he’s actually an okay guy, for a big-city property developer turned small-town publican. When I had to drop everything and head up to Adelaide when my aunty died, he didn’t think twice about it. He let me leave in the middle of a shift.’

‘That hardly makes him Employer of the Year.’

‘And, when he bought the pub a month ago, he discovered all the staff were being paid below the hourly rate. He fixed it straightaway and sorted out the back pay.’

‘A regular Prince Charming.’

‘Correct me if I’ve got the wrong end of the pineapple here, but I sense that you’re still pissed at him. What a great couple you two make. Maybe I can orchestrate a meeting so I can watch you fight. It’ll be better than reality TV. Now, I have to get ready for work and you’re leaving. Can we take a raincheck on the spag bol?’

‘Of course.’ They hugged each other tight. Lizzie looked her in the eye and grinned. ‘Don’t think this means you’re getting away with not telling me the whole story about you and Ry. Later!’

The pub was already coming to life for the Sunday lunch shift and Ry observed it all as he sat at a table in the corner of the front bar, the one closest to the fire, trying to concentrate on the screen of his iPad. For the past five years there hadn’t been a Sunday when there wasn’t work to do, and today he was attempting to do what he did every day: return emails and catch up on business that he’d been too flat-out to deal with during the other six days of the week.

This time, however, everything was a blur. He decided a caffeine jolt was the answer and waved to one of his staff, indicating he’d like another double espresso. Maybe that would help him get his head together.

He swiped his finger across the screen of his iPad, re-reading the previous page of the development application he’d been trying to interpret for the past half hour. It all became a jumbled mess. What the hell was up with him today? He normally got off on this stuff, always had a head for details and the finer points of amendments to development plans, applications and approvals and heritage regulations. He usually liked knowing exactly where the business was on any given day, and had people working for him who could, at a moment’s notice, give him precise details about the status of approvals and vacancy projections.

But this particular morning? He couldn’t drum up the enthusiasm to give a shit about any of it.

When his coffee arrived, he thanked the waitress with a distracted smile. He wondered if he should talk to her — Kimberley, wasn’t it — about her pink hair. Man, all of a sudden he was thinking like a grumpy old man.
He gulped his coffee down and waited for the familiar buzz. It didn’t come.

Ry wasn’t proud of himself for a whole range of reasons. He rubbed his eyes and tried not to think about Julia’s face that morning, full of indignation and some other emotion he was having trouble defining. He’d been racking his brain to figure out why he’d been so incensed at seeing her in the house next door. And furious at himself for touching her, for getting so close to her that he could see into her eyes; deep pools of caramel and chocolate, and smell her perfume. Sweet flowers. Her hair was still the same; wild, untamed and skimming her shoulders, and her skin, Irish pale. Easy to keep that up in Melbourne, he figured, where it rained most of the time. He’d wondered how she’d coped growing up down here in the blazing summer sun without burning to a crisp.

And that body. He took a deep breath and blew it out in frustration. It was more luscious than he remembered. Curvier, fuller, a real woman’s body. And when her dressing gown had gaped open, he’d caught a glimpse of her tight nipples under a thin T-shirt, hardened into nubs from the cold.

Looking back, he couldn’t believe he’d been so close to the edge, so distracted by the sight of her again that he’d been tempted to plunge right into no man’s land and kiss the living hell out of her. Which would have been monumentally stupid.

Julia.

In this town. In his pub. On his street.

Still in your head, you fucking idiot.

He clicked the cover of his iPad shut. There was no way he was going to get any work done while his brain was idling in neutral and his dick was revving in fourth gear. And that, in itself, was unfamiliar, this being bent out of shape by a woman stuff. It had been years since the last time, at least five. He’d been way to busy, bone-tired with exhaustion, over-stimulated by pressure and ground down by worry to let anyone get to him the way Julia had in only one day. One fucking day. He needed to get his head out of his arse.

At least buying the pub had been a good idea. That was something he could be proud of. It had good bones, solid stone sandstone walls topped by an original cedar ceiling so high that no one had ever been bothered to paint it. Lucky for them, it was still original, honeyed and mellowed with
age, and it cast a warm light over the front bar and dining room.

Ry smoothed the crisp linen tablecloth, feeling the cool stiffness under his fingers. He’d insisted on them when he bought the business, despite the extra cost of having them laundered. He liked the way they brightened up the dining room and gave the historic pub’s front dining room a classy feel. Not too pretentious, he still wanted it to feel like a pub, but it was a fresh look for an updated eatery. He decided the place looked good. On either side of him, tables were freshly set, silver cutlery caught the light, plain white side plates waited for crusty bread and wine glasses sat sparkling, expectantly round and ready.

He’d hit the ground running, making sure the menu was refreshed, encouraging the chef to be bold with the menu, and it now featured more local produce from the Fleurieu Peninsula. The wine list had been expanded to include more local varieties from the internationally renowned McLaren Vale wine-growing district. So far it was working and the weekend visitor booking numbers were starting to improve. Some of the locals were a little put out by losing their precious schnitzels, but once they got the hang of schnitzel-only Tuesday, they came back in droves.

Ry felt a surge in his chest. Proud, that’s how he felt about the pub and his place in it. Which was a much better feeling than regret over Julia, he decided. He let himself ponder for just a moment what Julia would think about the changes. Hell, what did he care what she thought.

His phone rang and the name
Danny Boy
appeared on the caller ID. During working hours, Dan was officially his Director of Special Projects. He took the call with a grin.

‘Can’t make a decision without me, Danny Boy?’

‘Kiss my arse. How’s the tan coming along?’

‘Man, it’s like Miami down here. Cold beers, beach umbrellas and women in bikinis who all need suntan lotion rubbed on the bits they can’t reach. And the bits they can. What’s up?’

‘Think you can put the sunscreen down and do some work for a minute? I need to run some stuff by you about the Windswept Development.’