Tulips from mal, p.1
Tulips from Mal, page 1
Tulips
from
Mal
Gabriella Margo
Copyright © 2022 Gabriella Margo
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the Australian Copyright Act 1968 (for example, a fair dealing for the purposes of study, research, criticism or review), no part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, communicated or transmitted in any form or by any means without prior written permission. All inquiries should be made to the author.
www.gabriellamargobooks.com
First published in 2022
ISBN 978-0-6454051-0-1 Paperback
ISBN 978-0-6454051-1-8 Hardback
ISBN 978-0-6454051-2-5 eBook
ISBN 978-0-6454051-3-2 Audio book
Book cover design and interior typesetting by Vanessa Mendozzi
Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Names, characters and places are products of the author’s imagination.
All military aspects of this book are fully fictional. While every effort was made to ensure factual accuracy, all views, expressions and information are for entertainment purposes only, and do not represent the Australian Department of Defence or its components.
As the author, I acknowledge that this story was written on Bidjigal land and pay my respect to Elders past, present and emerging. I humbly give thanks to all Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples who have been telling stories for tens of thousands of years.
Tulips from Mal is dedicated to
all the pets currently living in shelters.
Despite often experiencing trauma,
you always change our lives for the better.
Here’s to finding your forever home.
10% of profits from book sales goes towards the
Animal Welfare League NSW, who work tirelessly
to ensure quality of life for abandoned pets.
SUMMER
1. Georgie
I spotted him at the most inconvenient time.
I was rummaging through my kitchen drawers, looking for a Band-Aid and cursing the metal grater on the marble bench as hot pain seared down my hand. Wincing, I brought my finger to my mouth and sucked on it, annoyed at myself. For someone who once single-handedly catered an event for two hundred and fifty people, it was ironic that I couldn’t be trusted not to slice off the top of my finger in my own kitchen.
I grabbed a large Band-Aid and struggled to pull the packaging off with one hand.
And that’s when I saw him.
I froze, blood oozing down my finger, anger seeping into my veins instead.
Behind the sparse row of bushes that lined the boundary of our houses, I could see him through my window, standing on his front lawn.
“Are you kidding me?” I muttered, noticing the stream of foam that was coming off the roof of his car and snaking its way across the grass, pooling at my door.
Yet again.
The guy had moved into the house next door a week ago, tops, and this was already the third time he was washing his beloved car and consequently flooding the front of my house. Normally, I couldn’t care less what my neighbours did – and I wasn’t bothered by much that didn’t involve me. But the first time he’d done it, I was coming home with a glass baking dish in my hand and didn’t see the water. I’d slipped at my front door, dropped and smashed the dish on the concrete steps, and rolled an ankle.
The guy was synonymous with pain, apparently.
My stomach turned, remembering how Byron hadn’t spoken to me for days after I broke his mother’s favourite baking dish.
I bit down on my lip and managed to wrap the Band-Aid around my finger, then stormed out the front door, dodging the foamy puddle this time. I’d been inside with the air conditioning set to seventeen all day. The scorching summer sun and stifling heat knocked the wind out of me, taking my frustration up a few notches.
“Hey!” I yelled at him, getting closer. “Do you think you could stop flooding my garden and front porch? It’s been a mud pit since the day you moved in!”
Tone it down, Georgie – the guy is just washing his car on his lawn.
But my rational brain was nowhere to be seen.
He glanced at me briefly as I stomped closer to his charcoal-grey Hilux, but his lips remained pressed together.
“Hey!” I shouted again, looking at the chunky tyres on the tall four-wheel drive.
He twisted the nozzle of the hose to stop the water, with something like amusement flashing across his face.
“Hello, do your ears work?” I huffed, ignoring the pain in my right hand. The heat was making my finger throb with agony.
“Morning,” he said, casually lifting a hand to his forehead to shield his eyes from the sun, then pointing to his left ear. “Actually, I do have a bit of an issue with this one, but that comes in handy sometimes.” He winked.
My eyes trailed south. He was wearing a pair of dark green shorts.
And that was it.
Barefoot on the glistening grass, my new neighbour stood there looking at me as my gaze continued down to the V-shaped muscles on his lower abs for a split second. He didn’t have an overly defined six-pack, but he was a solid guy. Toned, a bit scruffy – one of those outdoorsy types, not someone who spends hours working out in a gym.
I quickly averted my eyes from his tanned body and looked up again, trying to remember what I was going to say. A silver watch sat loosely on his left wrist, reflecting the sun into my eyes. I blinked.
He was trying hard to contain a smile, but the left side of his mouth was inching towards the sky. “I’m sorry. Is there a problem?” he asked.
“Yes, there’s a problem! You keep flooding my garden. And my front steps. Seriously, how often do you need to wash your car?”
He finally broke into a smile, but didn’t move. Kind of an unusual reaction to a strange woman practically screaming at him.
“Also,” I continued my rant, “there’s this thing called water restrictions. You heard of those?”
It was bad enough that Byron couldn’t care less about trying to save water. I’m one person, he’d say to me. What difference will it make if I leave the water running?
I couldn’t stop looking at my neighbour’s muscly arms. I was sure he was flexing on purpose as he held the hose.
He cocked his head. “And here I was thinking that you were coming to welcome me to the street with a nice basket of muffins or something.”
I put my hands on my hips. “It’s not the 1950s. And do I look like the kind of woman who bakes muffins?” I said, forgetting I had an apron on, and hoping he couldn’t see the bowl of muffin batter through my kitchen window from where he stood. The scorching heat and the pain in my finger were unbearable. I was sure I’d sliced the top of my finger right off, and I knew that Byron wouldn’t respond to anything less than a detached limb. That thought on top of the searing pain wasn’t helping the situation with the new neighbour. It was making me feel like a few of my screws had come loose. I knew I was being unreasonable. But I was in agony – and this guy was more annoying than having to do a three-point turn in my rusty work ute, sans power steering.
“Okay, look, I’m sorry. I promise I won’t wash my car again in this spot.”
I lifted an eyebrow. “Starting right now?” I said, wondering how far I could push it.
“Sure.” He shrugged again. “Starting right now.”
Well, that was easier than I’d anticipated. My shoulders dropped a bit, and despite my annoyance, something about the neighbour made me feel at ease. He was so … calm? Easy going? And he obviously had a sense of humour.
Too bad he was so infuriating. I hesitated, then went to walk away. I’d barely taken two steps when the water started back up, a stream of it flying past me and starting up the small river flowing down towards my front steps again.
I turned around and glared at him, but as I opened my mouth to protest, a jet of water hit me square in the chest and face. He was hosing the car’s roof, whistling, like the last two minutes hadn’t even happened. His thick, dark hair sat swished to one side, like he’d just been to the barber. Even his beard was perfectly trimmed, adding to his overall manicured-but-somehow-scruffy appearance. I stood staring at him with my hands on my hips again.
What a smartass. It wasn’t hard to see we were not going to be friends. I took a step towards him, then paused, thinking twice about my strategy. I looked at the green hose snaking a path down along our shared fence and into his backyard.
Game on.
I turned and went back inside, wiping water off my face angrily, not wanting to admit to myself that the cold water had actually felt refreshing. Hurrying down the hallway, I glanced to my left. Byron was sitting in our study with his headphones on, oblivious to my antics. I continued to the back door, opened it, and made my way to the garden, contemplating my next move. I grabbed onto a giant pot plant against the fence. The pot wasn’t very tall, but it was thick and sturdy. I looked around, craning my head to the right.
Car Wash Guy was still out the front, hosing. I smiled smugly to myself, feeling childish, but annoyed enough to go ahead with the plan.
I put one foot on the pot plant and hoisted myself up onto the fence. Then, in one swift movement, I launched myself over it and landed with a thud on the other side, s
The rest of the garden was perfectly manicured, grass freshly mowed and gorgeous lilies, tulips and vivid yellow roses lining the fence. A stone path led to a modern-looking deck behind the house with a jacuzzi on it. The people who lived here before this guy had put a lot of money into their backyard – it was like I’d tumbled straight into the Ritz-Carlton.
I looked down at myself. One shoe, a dirty apron, and saturated hair – I was a sight. Plus, my injured finger was now bleeding through the Band-Aid. It was going to need a proper bandage.
I turned back towards the tap. I’d been so engrossed by the pool that I had missed the giant dog who’d snuck up behind me, the soft grass absorbing its footsteps. It was sitting about two metres away from me, next to the tap, like it knew what I was going to do and needed to guard it.
My head spun, images of a dog latching onto my leg flooding my thoughts. “Jesus,” I murmured, flailing backwards and gaping at the animal. It was huge – one of those big black and white Siberian dogs that had no business being in the Australian heat.
And I had no business being in its backyard.
Ice-blue eyes were boring holes straight into me. It was ready to attack.
2. Drew
I twisted the nozzle of the hose to turn it off and looked at the car, which was gleaming in the sun and dripping water onto the grass. It had been absolutely filthy. No matter how much I washed, wiped and polished it, I was still finding dust everywhere since driving across the Nullarbor last week.
It was sweltering outside today, and the cold water felt nice on my feet. Sometimes I wished I’d bought a lighter car – this dark paint showed every bit of dust, every bug I’d collected along the way. It’d had a few close calls with some pretty big roos, too – one I’d only just missed – but thankfully I’d made it across to Sydney without too many hiccups.
The Navy had offered to fly me. But I needed my car anyway, and besides, I loved a good road trip.
I’d seen my neighbour once or twice since moving in, but I’d never spoken to her. She often left for work right before I did, hopping into the driver’s seat of her white ute before I could go and say hi. But after what I’d just witnessed, that was probably a good thing – she didn’t seem like much of a morning person.
She was wild, yelling at me like that – although, she was completely right about the water restrictions. I had totally forgotten, and I was usually so mindful about not wasting water. But despite how much I was clearly pissing her off, I couldn’t help noticing she was actually pretty cute.
And it was very cute that she thought she could sneak into my backyard without anyone noticing.
I just hoped she liked big dogs.
I glanced into the backyard again, down the straight stretch of grass along our shared fence. It was kind of a dead area – wasted space. But it wasn’t wasted today. I could see her with Mal, in what looked like quite the standoff. There they were, eye to eye, neither of them moving. And she looked petrified.
I didn’t even know her name yet, and she was already trespassing on my property.
I smiled, watching her. She was sort of cowering, and kept glancing at the fence, absolutely freaked out. Kind of served her right for jumping the fence to do … Well, whatever she was planning to do. She probably didn’t quite deserve to fear for her life, though. I sighed and put the hose down, opened the gate, and walked down the grassy strip.
“Mal! Come here, boy,” I whistled as I tapped my thigh. Mal came bounding over to me and sat down at my heel. I scratched him on the head and grinned at her. “So,” I said, “I see you’ve met my dog.”
She was backed up against the fence. “Get that bloody thing away from me.”
Mal wouldn’t hurt a fly. He was timid – I’d even seen him run away from tiny puppies before. And he was a terrible guard dog – exhibit A.
“I am not a dog person,” she muttered.
“Yes, I can see that,” I said. “What on earth are you doing, anyway?” I nodded at the fence she’d just climbed.
Her apron was loose around her neck, the plain white T-shirt underneath it soaked from when I’d hosed her. It was big and baggy, but now that it was wet, it clung to her chest, almost totally see-through.
I couldn’t stop staring. But I forced myself to tear my eyes away from her before she thought I was a massive creep.
“Nothing,” she said, her lips tight. “I … I fell.”
I raised an eyebrow at her, trying not to smile more than I already was. “Right. Well, now that you’ve fallen into my yard and scared my poor dog, are you going to tell me your name?”
She stared at me. Then, clutching her right hand to her chest, she took off towards the back door of my house. Was she for real? I followed her inside, just catching the screen door before it slammed shut. Mal continued standing outside, watching us curiously.
“Please, come into my house,” I said under my breath. She ignored me and kept walking, making her way through the kitchen and living room, towards the front door. “Hey. Can you please stop?”
She turned around. “What?”
“Look. I’m sorry about the car washing, all right? I’ll do it further away next time.” I really didn’t want to start off on the wrong foot with my new neighbour. She seemed legitimately angry.
Standing in my living room, she studied my face for a moment. She must’ve been a couple of years younger than me, at a guess. Her shiny, caramel-coloured hair was in a high ponytail that reached halfway down her back, the colour fading until it was a very light blonde at the bottom. I’d seen this kind of hair colour on other women. But it was different on her. Like she wasn’t trying to look good on purpose, but somehow managed to do so anyway.
She stared at me with enormous hazel eyes, and her shoulders dropped. She sighed. “I’m Georgie.”
Light freckles peppered the tops of her bronzed cheeks. She was definitely attractive, and had a kind of sultry look about her. In fact, with those soft, full lips and bright eyes, she wasn’t just attractive – she was downright stunning. Something fluttered in my chest. It was too bad she was so … unhinged.
“Nice to meet you, Georgie. I’m Drew.” I extended my hand, but she just looked at it.
Well, okay then.
She didn’t move. We stood in my living room, looking at each other. Now I was the one in a standoff with her.
She was a bit shorter than me, slim but fit-looking. And whatever she did for work, she must’ve spent a lot of time outside, judging by the deep golden glow of her skin.
My gaze fell to her hand, which she was still clutching. It was bleeding. In fact, blood was seeping through to the fingers of her other hand.
“Hey, did you hurt yourself climbing the fence?” I said, quickly ripping a handful of tissues out of the box on the coffee table and moving towards her.
Her eyebrows furrowed. “What, are you worried about your fancy white carpet?”
“I wasn’t. But now that you mention it, I’ll send you the steam-cleaning bill.” I grinned, wrapping the tissues carefully around her finger. She didn’t object, but she didn’t thank me, either. “This looks pretty bad, Georgie. What did you do to it?”
She hardly skipped a beat. “Your dog got me. He just … He came over and went for my hand.”
I glanced down at her as I held the tissues to her soft hands. Mal sat at the screen door gazing at us with wide blue eyes, his tongue hanging out in the heat. He looked like he was smiling at me. I smiled back at him. She’s a little different, huh, pal?
