Paycheque (28 page)

‘So, what do we do?' Bernadette and Claire asked together.

‘Do? There's only one thing to do.'

‘Yes?' Claire said.

‘Well ring the agent and beg him to sell you the property, of course, silly.'

They all laughed.

‘Beg? I'm not sure I'm…'

‘Well I guess that depends on how badly you want the house,' David said, already packing up the lunch things.

They enjoyed an early dinner at David's home, which could only be described as stunning. Claire couldn't understand why, with such clear talent in interior design, he'd be working the unsociable hours of a café, when he could be swanning around spending other people's money doing up their houses.

After half an hour of oohing and ahhing over his carefully placed knick-knacks and exquisite feature walls, David popped the cork on a bottle of champagne.

‘Here's to an extremely successful day househunting,' he said, raising his glass.

‘And decisive owners who can negotiate quickly – touch wood,' Bernie said.

They clinked glasses and took their first sips.

‘I can't believe it's all happening so quickly,' Claire said.

‘That's because it's meant to be,' David said.

‘
And
because Claire is so damn organised she'd done all the groundwork.'

‘I can't believe you sold the townhouse so easily. I thought the market had slowed in the city,' David said.

‘Just lucky, I guess,' Claire said with a shrug, and returned her attention to her glass.

‘Well let's hope your luck covers you for moving day. Mine was an ordeal and a half!' David said.

‘I think we should just let Claire enjoy the moment, don't you think?'

‘Okay, fair enough.'

Claire, giddy with the euphoria of success and being the centre of attention, reminded herself she had to drive home later. Finally, she could feel the tide turning on her otherwise dreadful year.

They discussed Christmas, which no one seemed to have given much thought to. Claire thought she noticed an odd look pass between David and Bernadette, but dismissed it – Christmas had weird effects on people. It would be another milestone in her first year without Keith. When had she last thought of him? Two days? Three?
Oh my God! How could I forget him after all we meant to each other? But hang on
, she thought.
Just because he's not plaguing your every waking moment doesn't mean you didn't love him
.

But he was gone. And she had a life to live.

With her champagne glass halfway to her lips, staring at her oldest and newest friends, Claire McIntyre decided that quite possibly she would be okay. She snapped back to attention at having her glass clinked again.

‘You were miles away,' Bernadette said.

‘Just thinking life's pretty good right now,' Claire said truthfully.

‘That's my girl,' Bernadette said, and hugged her friend.

As Claire turned into the driveway she did a double take and brought the car to a halt. Something was different. But what? She looked about before dismissing the thought as the lights of the car playing tricks with the shadows.

Claire felt a little apprehensive, suddenly regretting not telling
her father about her plan to find her own accommodation. It was silly; here she was a grown woman scared of the same conversation she'd had with her father almost two decades before. She looked back up the driveway at the waving shadows of the trees beside the road. Ahead, the porch light flickered like a beacon. She gritted her teeth and put the car into gear.

Jack took the news surprisingly well, even agreeing that, yes, he could understand her wanting time away from him and the horses. He went to great pains to tell her how much he had enjoyed her company, and that he really did appreciate all her assistance in getting him back on his feet.

‘Dad, I'll still be here every day working you know,' she said, suddenly concerned he wasn't quite comprehending.

‘Don't worry, Claire Bear. Just closing the book.'

‘Sorry?'

‘Well, it's business from now on, isn't it? So we'll have less of the bossy-daughter-helpless-father routine, won't we?' He sounded jovial, but Claire still felt the criticism. She forced herself to laugh.

‘I suppose you think that means you'll be doing all the ordering around from now on?'

‘Too right – we'll make you a top class trainer yet...'

You'd have to become one first
. Claire bit the inside of her cheek, hating herself for the thought. What he said next both stunned and impressed her.

‘…not an old bushie like me.'

Claire beamed and, as always, could not help pushing for extra compliments. ‘You really think I've got what it takes?'

‘You're still here, aren't you?' Jack said.

A few days later, Claire was coming back from lunch with Bernadette when she finally realised what was different about the entrance to the McIntyre farm. Something had been bothering her every time she'd driven in, but she hadn't been able to put her finger on it. Now she saw: the faded tin sign announcing ‘J.W. & G.L. McIntyre' that had swung untouched for almost four decades had been taken down. It was now being rehung.

Jack was standing holding the ladder while a younger lad – who Claire recognised from the local hardware store – checked the alignment with a spirit level. Glossy new paint gleamed in the bright afternoon sun. The red, shadowed lettering stood out boldly from the white background and the gold swirling details in the corners.

She pulled over and wound the window down, ready to tell them how good it looked. But as she studied the lettering she noticed something slightly different about it. The ‘G' in the second set of initials was now a ‘C'.

She got out of the car and stared up at the sign. She cursed the lump forming in her throat and swallowed it.

Jack came over to her. ‘So, what do you think?'

‘It's great, but… are you sure?'

‘I organised it, didn't I? Of course I'm sure. Thought I may as well make the partnership official. The entrance was looking a bit tired, anyway. Randal here's going to repaint the gates as well.'

Claire blinked back a couple of tears. ‘Thanks Dad. It means a lot, it really does.'

‘I know. And it means a lot to me having you here.' Jack put an arm around his daughter's shoulder, gave it a quick squeeze and let go.

‘Right, so we'll just have to live up to this flash sign then, won't we?' Claire said getting back in the car. ‘I'm going to give Paycheque a workout in the sand.'

‘Good idea. I'll see you later.'

Claire was glad to wake on Christmas day to find a rare cold, wet morning. The bank of dark, low clouds looming outside her window matched her mood. Here she was, thirty-five years old and living at home with her father. She still hadn't signed the contract on the cottage. Her offer had been as good as accepted, but the vendors were still trying to work out how long they needed for settlement. And, of course, there was no escaping the fact it was her first Christmas without Keith. Claire couldn't wait for it to be over.

They were spending the day with Bill and Daphne Markson. When they'd rung to invite her and Jack it was so obviously a pity call – the assumption that poor Claire was now bound to be at a loose end. The worst part was that they were right.

She'd spent so much time away from the city that she'd pretty much dropped out of her social circle. No one had invited her to have Christmas with them. Usually those who didn't have family in Adelaide took a turn hosting lunch. But they rarely called these days, and when they did there was really nothing to talk about. Probably figured she'd be too busy taking care of her father to get away.

Claire looked out the window again. Bloody Keith. If he hadn't died she wouldn't be hating the thought of Christmas. Life would be so different. She groaned. Wasn't that the understatement of the century? She checked her watch beside the bed. No time for wallowing. She had approximately four hours to drink her coffee, feed the horses and put on a happy face before lunch.

‘Morning,' Jack said when she entered the kitchen. ‘A fine Australian summer day we have.'

‘Hmm.' Thank God he hadn't shouted ‘Merry Christmas' at her.

Claire had just made her tea when the phone rang on the table beside her. It was Bernie.

‘Happy Christmas!'

Claire scowled at her friend's cheer. ‘And to you, too.'

‘A little bit of enthusiasm would be nice.'

‘Hmm.'

‘Claire McIntyre, you have lots to be thankful for, so brighten up.'

Ah, so she was in tough love mode. ‘I know. It's just…' Claire sighed.

‘I know. It's your first Christmas without him. You're allowed to miss him, just not dwell on it.'

‘It's not that. I'm so sick of everything being about poor Claire who lost her husband.'

‘Well that's good. It's a sign you're moving on.'

‘I wish everyone else would too – I've lost count of the number of people who have stopped me in the street the last couple of weeks to talk about the weather.'