I shrug but avoid meeting Uteman’s gaze. ‘Looks like we’re grabbing a drink.’

  Vince’s is a funky-looking place I’ve always wanted to try (as Finn so rightly said) but sitting alone in a wine bar, even if I did have a babysitter, isn’t exactly my vibe. I follow Uteman inside and past the bar itself to an outdoor area at the back which is a veritable oasis. The fence is covered in star jasmine, a carpet of verdant green and brilliant white giving off a sweet-as-honey perfume. An eclectic collection of retro-looking chairs and tables is scattered across the paved courtyard, with sun umbrellas covered in pineapples and flamingos popped above them to block out the late-afternoon sun.

  Uteman stops at one and pulls out a chair.

  ‘Thanks.’ I pop out a smile. This is nothing more than a casual drink. A couple of thirsty people taking a little time out from their hectic lives.

  ‘Did you enjoy the parade?’

  ‘It was amazing. Finn was in heaven. Thanks for reminding us about it.’

  ‘Drink? They have a good selection of locally brewed beers.’

  I don’t normally drink beer but on hot days like this an icy ale goes down a treat. ‘Sounds great.’

  He takes out his phone and hovers the camera over the QR code, presses a few buttons and puts it back in his pocket. Under the table our knees bump, and I shift mine slightly to the side. Too late to avoid the zing shooting up my leg right into my groin.

  ‘So, what really brought you to this part of the world?’ Uteman throws the question out like he’s tossing a frisbee and I shuffle back in my seat as if it’s jagged me in the solar plexus.

  ‘What kind of a question is that?’

  He shrugs. ‘A getting-to-know-you one. I mean, we are neighbours.’

  ‘Temporary neighbours.’ While I have no intention of getting into anything deep and meaningful, answering the question is better than sitting in awkward silence. ‘I used to work as a lawyer but defending companies who deliberately broke the law and then paid exorbitant fees to avoid the penalties didn’t sit well with me. I quit and retrained in agriculture.’

  ‘Was that before you had Finn?’

  ‘Before and after. I started my degree, fell pregnant then took some time off and went back to studying when he was a year old.’

  ‘Still doesn’t tell me how you ended up in Lynstock.’

  ‘No, but it gives you the backstory.’ A fresh-faced young woman arrives with our drinks. I thank her and take a mouthful of the honey-coloured ale. Across the table Uteman does the same and I do not watch the way he swallows or the way he licks the foam from his lips. Instead, I keep talking. ‘The last case I worked on was for a mining company. The wall of its tailings dam failed and dust particles from the waste spread to the properties surrounding the mine. Residents ended up with respiratory diseases, which of course couldn’t be proven to be linked to the pollution, and on the land they farmed cattle were grazing on paddocks covered in the dust. The couple lived on the place their whole lives, that farm was their sole income but there wasn’t a damned thing they could do about it because the government refuses to bring the big mining companies to account. They got off with a measly $20,000 fine and went back to business as usual.’ With each mouthful of the delicious brew my ire escalates, and my tongue keeps wagging. ‘It was the final straw. I’d had doubts about going into law from the beginning, but that case sent me into a spiral. I took some time off, went on a road trip and did some soul-searching. When I came back, I handed in my resignation and enrolled in the Ag degree, much to my father’s disgust.’

  ‘Your father?’

  ‘He owned the law firm I worked for. My brothers worked there too and Dad thought he’d scored a trifecta when all three of his kids joined the practice. Me leaving wounded his pride. He’s the type of man who likes to control his family, even when they’re adults. I happen to be the black sheep. I’d gone along with the law thing because I got the marks for it and it was expected of me, but it was never my passion.’

  Uteman stretches out his legs and his calves rest against my ankle. I don’t bother shifting. The sun and the beer and the adult company are a soporific cocktail that has me surprisingly relaxed.

  ‘Vegetables are your passion?’

  I laugh. ‘As weird as it sounds, yes. Or at least they are now. My grandmother used to grow her own vegetables and I’d help her in the garden when I was a kid. I never forgot how good it felt to have earth between your fingers, and to eat the produce you’d grown yourself. She died when I was a teenager, and that was all left behind but it must have lodged itself somewhere deep down inside me. Seeing how degraded the properties around the mining sites were brought it all back. Made me want to do something to try to save the planet rather than be complicit in destroying it. Especially after I had a child of my own.’

  He’s staring at me, wide-eyed, dumbfounded, as if a second head has burst from my shoulders while I’ve been talking. Probably talking too much.

  ‘Sorry. I’m boring you.’

  Uteman shakes his head, rattling himself out of his stupor. ‘No. Not at all. I’m just surprised at the motivation behind you buying the property. That level of commitment is ...’ He frowns into his schooner glass, as if the word he’s searching for might bubble up any second. ‘Brave,’ he says finally. ‘To be honest I’m pretty disillusioned with the whole mining industry myself. I’ve tried to focus on the income but the destruction going on up there is mind-boggling. There’s got to be a better way.’ His phone vibrates on the table, and he picks it up. ‘Angella. FaceTime.’

  Shit, is Finn all right? I shuffle forward in my seat.

  ‘Hi, brother.’ Angella’s voice chimes out from the phone. ‘Can you put Bridie on?’

  ‘Sure.’ He shrugs and passes me the phone.

  ‘Mum.’ Finn’s smiling face fills the screen. ‘Can I have a sleepover at Miss Angella’s house? Me and Max and Maisie are going to build a fort and they have a real actual telescope we can look at tonight, and it’s going to be a full moon.’ He runs out of breath and finally comes up for air.

  A sleepover? My gut twists. In the five and a half years since Finn was born I haven’t been away from him overnight. Or rather, he hasn’t been away from me. ‘Oh, I don’t know, matey.’

  He juts out his chin and creases his brow. ‘Please?’

  Angella appears, taking the phone from Finn. ‘I know this is out of the blue, Bridie, but the kids are getting on so well. The sleepover was Max’s idea and Finn is super excited about it. He’ll be in safe hands.’

  I can hardly disagree. From the day he started at the preschool he’s idolised Miss Angella and she has always been so wonderful with him. Even though the prospect of not tucking him into bed quite literally makes my heart ache, it’s good for Finn to be making friends.

  ‘Okay. But he doesn’t have any pyjamas.’ One last-ditch attempt to stave off the inevitable.

  ‘All good. He and Max are the same size. Can I speak to Rhys for a minute?’

  I hand back the phone and down the rest of my drink, soothing the raw chafing in my throat.

  ‘You okay to get a lift back to the farm with Bridie?’ The volume is up loud enough for me to hear what she’s saying. ‘I’ll take the kids straight back to mine.’

  Uteman flashes me a look over the top of the phone. ‘Is that okay? I lent my car to her husband to go and pick up some timber.’

  ‘Is that right?’ The whole thing smacks of a conspiracy, and a not very well disguised one at that.

  ‘I don’t mind driving if you’d like another drink.’

  The prospect of another beer is enticing, and Uteman does live right next door so it’s not exactly putting me out. ‘Fine.’

  ‘See you, sis. Have a good night.’

  ‘You too.’ Angella sniggers her reply but I’m too relaxed to care.

  I push my glass across the table. ‘Your shout.’

  Driving past our gate without turning in is completely disconcerting and I have to bite down on my lip so I don’t yell out ‘STOP’ at the top of my voice. But that’s not the only thing that’s weird: being a passenger in my own car, a not-unattractive man in the driver’s seat, and the light-headed floaty feeling of cruising along with the windows down after two beers. It’s like I’m playing the lead role in one of those body-switch movies.

  Uteman points at the paddocks where our six agistment horses graze. ‘You’ve got a lot of land for a small business.’

  ‘It won’t always be small.’ I picture the business plan I spent years fine-tuning and my blood fizzes. ‘Once I get full certification I’ll expand the range of produce, get in some beef cattle to keep the far paddocks grazed. And there’s room for a few more horses for extra income. It’s a long-term plan.’

  ‘And you’re going to run it on your own?’

  My stomach bottoms out as a fire ignites in its pit. While I love the idea of managing the business and property myself, the amount of work I’ve had to do since Jason left has been exhausting. And I’ve barely had a moment to spend with Finn. But surely it will get easier? Once everything is set up?

  ‘Sure will,’ is all I say in reply, cracking the window in the hope a burst of fresh air will clear away the fuzz.

  We turn into the next driveway and through the open gate of Bill Tucker’s place and cruise up to the house, where Uteman kills the engine. The cottage is as old as mine but in much better condition. A riot of purple agapanthus lines the path to the front door and bursts of hydrangeas bloom in a garden bed bordering the porch. The doors bang in unison as we step out of the car.

  ‘Thanks for the lift.’ Uteman stands beside the driver’s door, hands shoved into the front pockets of his jeans.

  In the soft glow of twilight his eyes gleam silver. ‘I think I should be thanking you. It’s been ages since I’ve had a driver.’ I realise the implication too late: the subject of my absent partner hasn’t been broached since I overstepped, and now is not the time. ‘I don’t usually drink much.’

  ‘You work hard. It’s good to let your hair down every now and then.’

  ‘Yeah, it is.’ I stare out towards the setting sun. Tonight’s palette is all mauves and lilacs, the perfect backdrop for the garden, and the mood is magical.

  Uteman follows my gaze. ‘Never gets old.’ He says it almost under his breath, like he’s saying it to himself.

  ‘Do you miss it?’

  His shoulders lift and his chest rises, then falls. ‘I didn’t think I did until I came back, but now I’m here ...’ His voice trails off and he shakes his head. ‘I guess when you’re raised on the land it’s always in your blood.’

  That’s what I want for Finn. A sense of belonging. Somewhere he can grow into himself, discover who he is and what he truly wants. A place that will always be home no matter where he is in the world. I get the feeling this place has been exactly that for Uteman so I’m intrigued about why he left.

  ‘You hungry?’

  The question startles me from my reverie and I realise as I consider it that it’s been a while since I last ate.

  ‘Famished.’

  ‘I do a mean mac and cheese. Won’t take me long to whip it up if you’d like to join me.’

  I ponder my own bare pantry, and the prospect of Vegemite toast for one. Spending time alone with Uteman could be risky but it’s just a quick bite and then I’ll be off. ‘Why not?’

  He leads the way up the steps onto the verandah and into the house. As soon as I walk inside I’m swamped by the scent of aged timber. A soothing, woody perfume that perfectly matches the gallery of black-and-white family photos lining the panelled walls of the hallway. Our footsteps echo on the floorboards as we pass a comfy-looking lounge room complete with a moss-green velvet sofa and an open fireplace, then three doors, which I assume must be bedrooms. The hall opens into a huge kitchen with a large oak table and leadlight windows looking out over a swathe of freshly mown lawn. The homely feel of the place fills me with a comforting warmth. Bill Tucker is such a cantankerous creature I’d imagined his house to be more functional and less ... cosy.

  Uteman opens then closes the door of the fridge and holds out a chilled bottle of Corona. I really shouldn’t. But it’s hot, and the last two went down so easily. And having a night off seems to have released the old, more sociable me from her self-imposed inner prison.

  ‘Thank you.’

  He pops the lid and hands me the bottle.

  ‘Cheers.’ Our eyes meet as we clink, and my breath hitches. He really is handsome. That certain spot between my thighs softens like a toasted marshmallow and I take a gulp of the beer to cool the burn.

  ‘I’ll, ah ... get onto the cooking.’ The stammer in his voice tells me he’s feeling it too, whatever this attraction is between us. As he retrieves some pots from the cupboard and pasta from the pantry, I cross to the far side of the kitchen and take a seat at the table. Keeping a strategic distance at this point is probably wise.

  But it doesn’t mean I can’t do some digging. ‘So now you know all about why I bought the farm next door, it’s only fair that you spill the beans on why you left.’

  He flicks a nervous look in my direction and then refocuses on the cooktop where he’s adding chunks of butter to a saucepan. ‘Pretty boring story.’

  ‘Try me.’

  He has his back turned but I can tell from the ever-so-slight tensing of his shoulder blades that the idea makes him uncomfortable. Which makes me even more curious. I wait him out, letting the bubbling of the butter fill the silence and the tang of the next mouthful of beer fuel my resolve.

  ‘If you must know ...’ Yes, I must. He angles his body in my direction, wooden spoon in hand while he stirs. ‘I had my heart broken. By my high school sweetheart, the year after we graduated. I’d planned to stay and work the place with Dad, but he and I weren’t seeing eye to eye on how to run things, so when the relationship ended, I decided I needed a change of scenery. I hit the road and ended up in Brisbane. Settled there for a while and did an engineering degree, then headed further north and took a job in the mines. Been there ever since.’ He sculls his beer, as if the telling of the tale has triggered a desperate thirst.

  The whole idea of working for a mining company makes me bristle but I’m not in the mood for an argument. ‘How long ago was that?’

  He twists his bottom lip. ‘Around fourteen years.’

  I do a mental calculation—he’d probably have been jilted when he was nineteen so that puts him at thirty-three. ‘That’s a long time to be away from home.’

  ‘I’ve been back for visits. Christmas a few times and to see the twins. But to tell the truth Dad hasn’t really bothered with festivities since my mum passed away, so it’s been easier to keep working.’ He speaks quietly, and there’s an air of sadness in his tone.

  ‘How long ago did you lose your mum?’ I’m not normally this nosey but the combination of his macho exterior and the vulnerability of his revelations—not to mention the alcohol—has turned me into a no-holds-barred stickybeak.

  ‘She died when I was seventeen. An aggressive cancer.’ The pot-stirring becomes a little more vigorous. ‘I think that’s why the breakup with Rochelle hit me so hard. I was still processing losing Mum.’

  It’s all I can do not to jump from my seat, launch myself across the kitchen and throw my arms around him. I take a slug of beer instead. Even though I’m not close to my parents it’s hard to imagine a world in which they don’t exist.

  ‘How are things with your dad now?’

  He scrapes the steaming contents of the pan into a Pyrex dish, pops it in the oven and tosses the tea towel onto the bench. ‘Better.’ He cracks the tension in his face with a knowing smile. ‘He’s mellowing in his old age. Even gave me a hug when I arrived home.’

  Really? From what I know of Bill Tucker he doesn’t have a sentimental bone in his body. ‘I’m sorry you lost your mum.’

  The smile fades. ‘This will take about twenty minutes. Want to sit outside?’

  I nod and follow him out back to a classic backyard barbecue table, mission brown, the paint peeling from the set of bench seats like bark curling from a tree. Rather than sitting opposite me, Uteman (I probably should start referring to him by his proper name now I know he’s not the tool I first thought he was) takes a seat beside me and we face out towards the boundary between our properties, staring into the coppery light. There’s an absolute sense of peace. Not a breath of wind. Only the occasional call of a currawong, or the high, shrill piping of a parrot. My house sits against the backdrop of the pale-yellow hill, surrounded by a patchwork of greens, the centrepiece of an exquisite embroidered tapestry. We sit in amiable quiet, taking it all in, the warmth of Uteman’s body quivering in the air beside me. So close. G’s voice tinkles in my ear: It would do you good to have a fling. Based on the signs my body is giving me she’s probably right but after Utema—Rhys’s—confession about his broken heart, I’m not sure he’s a one-night stand kind of guy.

  Oh please, Bridie, he’s a man, isn’t he?

  G again. Is it normal to have imaginary conversations with a real person?

  I give my head a shake to evict her from my brain. She’s right of course, he is a male of the species, but does that necessarily mean he’s always up for it?

  ‘What’s going on inside your head right now?’ He’s looking at me with his brows furrowed and the faintest trace of a smile.

  ‘Nothing.’ My voice wavers and the rush of heat to my cheeks is like flames being fuelled by a blacksmith’s bellows.

  ‘Okay.’ He widens his eyes. ‘If you say so.’

  The conversation, admittedly initiated by yours truly, has been far too personal so I launch into some banal chatter about the weather of late, followed by various farming topics and the current price of hay. Rhys plays along until he rises to retrieve dinner from the oven, insisting I stay put while he brings the meal outside. Even the press of his hand to my shoulder to keep me in place sets off a fountain of bubbles effervescing through my body. Staying put is a good idea. Besides, my legs have turned to jelly, and the way I’ve been grilling him is a sure sign I’ve consumed enough alcohol. Water from here on in.

 

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