Home Run

24

Home Run

   The bloke leaning on the bar at Jack’s elbow said thoughtfully: “Thought George wasn’t pushing off to Tazzie for a while yet?”

    Jack came to. “Uh—hi, Steve. He’s going next week. That bloke from England that Gil knows, the one that’s one of YDI’s top project managers, he’s coming out, gonna take a dekko at Blue Gums, and they’ll go down together.”

    Steve Macdonald looked puzzled. “Thought there was a bloke in New Zealand that was George’s boss?”

    “He’s the regional boss, yeah, but he’s management, not projects.”

    “If you say so. Well, that’s funny, ’cos I could of sworn I saw George heading out of Barrabarra first thing this morning. Wouldn’t be picking up materials, would ’e? Not if this new place is in Tazzie.”

    Or, the ends of the earth. Jack eyed him somewhat drily: he already knew that that was how New South Welshmen or, for that matter, anyone from mainland Australia felt about the Apple Isle. He’d met loads of people in Sydney who’d been to Norfolk Island and New Zealand but had never been to Tasmania.

    “Nah, just going to see a friend before he leaves.”

    “Aw, right.” Steve looked at him hopefully.

    Jack waited, but the bloke didn’t ask. That was a first, not just for him but the rest of Australia: asking personal questions was normal conversation over here. He didn’t enlighten him: Steve was okay but he didn’t feel it was any of the bloke’s business that George had headed on up to Ginger Bay to see Lisbet Hall again. He didn’t know exactly what had passed between him and bloody Pete Outhwaite before the silly joker pushed off back to the Big Smoke—though he did know that both Gil and Phil were hopping mad about the prick just walking away from Honey without a word—but he did know that whatever it was it had made George rethink things.

    Because what he’d said to him was: “Jack, I’ve been thinking. I dare say Lisbet doesn’t want a conventional lifestyle and I’m not about to ask her to give up the lot to join up with yours truly, but I reckon we might work something out if she’s interested. I won’t be leading a settled life, anyway, for the foreseeable future, I’ll have to go where the projects are—they’re thinking of building the next one in the Cooks, ya know. But anyway, I thought I might put it to her in those terms. Spend time together whenever we can, sort of thing. I don't want to end up living like a bloody hermit like ruddy Pete, and I haven’t met anyone I ever liked so much, so, um, whaddaya think?”

    Jack had thought it over for a bit; then he’d said: “I really liked her, George: struck me as a really decent type. I’d say you’re right about her not wanting a conventional lifestyle, but it did strike me that you and her got on really well.”

    “Yeah. So—go for it, ya reckon?”

    “Why not?” said Jack slowly. “You only got one life.”

    “Fancy another?”

    Jack jumped. “Uh—thanks, Steve, don’t mind if I do.”

    “Aah!” reported Steve. “That’s better! So how’s it going with the singer lady’s house?”

    He didn’t, of course, mean anything by it. But it certainly put him, Jack Jackson, jobbing builder, firmly in his place relative to her, Antigone Walsingham Corrant, famous operatic contralto, didn’t it?

    “Pretty good, ta, Steve,” he said mildly. “Done a bit outside, got some paths in, ya never know when the weather’ll break, do ya? Been painting the outside this week. She wanted it pale yellow with a white trim.”

    “Yeah? Mum and Dad had yellow, at one stage, when I was a kid. Fades like buggery.”

    “What doesn’t, in the Australian sun?”

    “Yeah. –Thought those kitset things came ready-painted?”

    “White,” said Jack succinctly.

    “Aw. Right. She gonna stick to the basic kitchen layout, like Dot’s, or go for something fancier?”

    There were several replies that Jack could have given to this one—and one or two that he was very tempted to give! “She doesn’t mind,” he said, very, very mildly.

    Steve lowered his glass. “Eh?”

    “You heard. Got a mind above her ruddy kitchen sink, unlike the local moos. –And I do include New Zealand in that, before ya start.”

    Steve rallied. “She expecting to find a household slave to do the cooking for her, up in these parts?”

    He meant a wife, presumably. Jack didn’t say it, Steve wasn’t the sort of bloke that’d get his point, in fact he’d probably spread it all round the place that the singer lady must be a Les.

    “Nope.”

    This shut him up—good.

    Jack drained his glass. “Ta for the drink. Gotta get back, stop old Andy making a tea of spaghetti sandwiches, he’s been bingeing on them since ’is daughter went.”

    “Aw, yeah, the skinny dame that fancied you. Or was it George’s mate Pete?”

    Jack didn’t, usually, but this time—he couldn’t of said why, Steve Macdonald was okay and no worse than rest of ’em—he let him have it. “Pete’s certainly in her socio-economic bracket, and his personality’s as anal as hers, if that’s the same as fancying ’im. See ya!”

    Steve looked numbly at the spot where he’d been. “Funny joker,” he concluded on an uncertain note.

    It was well into the afternoon when George made it to Ginger Bay. Would she even be home? This time of day she might well be out surfing. Maybe he oughta go round to Marine Breezes, see if Ken and Heather could give him a room—

    Maybe he better stop procrastinating, pull his finger out, and get on with it! He drove north through the township, then took the minor road—very minor—that led, not exactly to, but past Lisbet’s uncle’s property.

    She probably wouldn’t mind if he drove the 4WD over the scrub—it was fenced, but there was a gate. George hesitated; then he shrugged, got out, opened the gate, drove through, got out, shut the gate, carefully looping the wire back over the gatepost, got back in and bumped on towards the house.

    She was in, because she opened the front door to his knock.

    “Hullo,” she said mildly.

    George swallowed hard. “Hi, Lisbet. I—um, is it convenient?’

    “There’s no-one else here, if that’s what you mean,” replied Lisbet on a dry note.

    He swallowed again. “Um, good. Um, listen—” he said, taking a deep breath.

    “I am listening, George,” prompted Lisbet mildly after quite some time, since nothing seemed to be forthcoming.

    “Yeah. Look, I’ve been a tit, should’ve said something before, only I thought— Well, heck, your life seems pretty—pretty settled, and, um—” Shit, he was making a mess of this! “I just thought I’d ask you if we could see a bit of each other,” he ended miserably.

    Levelly Lisbet replied: “If that means what I think it means, I am up for sex with you, but if it’s gonna lead on to you criticising my dump and suggesting I oughta turn it into a neat and tidy little suburban nest, or even set up a neat and tidy nest together—”

    “No! For Pete’s sake, I’ve had some of the neat and tidy suburban shit and I’m not looking for another helping! And I’ll be pushing off on my projects, what bloody suburban moo can take that, long-term?”

    “I see. Long-term,” said Lisbet thoughtfully.

    George was very red but he said firmly enough: “Well, yeah. That just came out, but yeah. If ya fancy it. –And don’t say I just wanna use you as a convenience!” he added loudly.

    “I wasn’t going to say that. I don’t deny I’ve had a bit of that in the past, but he was married. Um, well, yeah, sounds good to me. Come in, we’d better talk about it properly.”

    Numbly George followed her in.

    “Siddown. I was just making a mug of raspberry and hibiscus tea: want one?”

    George opened his mouth to lie. Then he shut it again. Then he took a deep breath and said firmly: “I may be thick where women are concerned but I can see when you’re testing me, Lisbet. I can’t stand any form of herb tea, so no, I won’t have one, thanks.”

    “Then it had better be brown dust, I’ve run out of ordinary tea.”

    “Yeah, brown dust’d be good; thanks.”

     Lisbet went out to the kitchen smiling just a little. She wasn’t quite sure what she expected, but he didn’t follow her out there and pounce on her from behind—as had happened in the past with other blokes. So he wasn’t that sort. Not enough self-confidence, ya might say, or not so bloody brash, ya might say that, too.

    “Maybe we better get one thing clear,” she said, putting the mugs down on her immoveable coffee table.

    “Yes?” replied George nervously.

    “Exactly why—and I don’t mind what the answer is, but I need to know—exactly why haven’t you been in touch at all, George?”

    There was a short silence. “Uh—exactly why’s a bit— Well, um, in the first place, like I said, your life struck me as sort of settled, and, um, you seem very, um, self-sufficient, is that the expression? Like, um, not needing another person? –Yeah,” he said as she nodded. “Um, but if ya want exactly... Well, I didn’t think you’d really want me,” he admitted glumly. “Didn’t think I had anything to offer. Not a good-looking bloke like Jack, haven’t got bags of charm like Gil—sorry, you don’t know him, he’s a neighbour—”

    “I remember, you mentioned him.”

    “Mm. –Did I? Mm. Um, and I s’pose I haven’t got bags of self-confidence like Bob, he’s the bloke up the—“

    “Up the road, the B&B one. Yes, I see.”

    “And to get it even more exactly clear, I lost my bloody nerve!” said George loudly and crossly. “That what you wanted to hear?”

    “Yes, actually, it is. In that case I think it might work out, George.”

    George was so stunned he just about dropped his mug of coffee; as it was, his hand shook and a puddle of coffee splashed onto the grey melamine tabletop.

    Lisbet produced a large, grimy handkerchief and gave it perfunctory wipe. “Thanks for being so honest.”

    “Uh—yeah,” said George dazedly. “Well, shit, no point in not being, eh?”

    “No,” she agreed with a smile. “Well, I suppose it’s my turn, and I’d better admit that even though I didn’t expect you to keep in touch—blokes that have been up here on holiday never do, it’s the visiting fireman syndrome—I was really, really sour when you didn’t. Um, so if I come on a bit sour and, um, resentful from time to time, that’ll be it.”

    “Yeah,” said George dazedly. “No, I mean, you couldn’t be sour or resentful if you tried.”

    “I thought I was giving a pretty good imitation of it, just now. –When I opened the door,” she clarified as he just looked blank.

    “Oh!” said George with a sudden loud laugh. “That! Nah, that wasn’t sour and resentful at all!”

    Lisbet was rather glad to hear it. “Oh,” she said weakly. “Glad you think so.”

    “Mm.” George drank his coffee blindly. She’d put a fair bit of milk in it, she must’ve remembered that that was how he preferred it—if there was any milk; he was capable of drinking it black, not to mention stone cold.

    After a bit he said: “My next job’s in Tazzie.”

    “Yes, you said.”

    “Aw—did I? Right. Gotta push off down there next week. We don’t normally work weekends unless the thing’s gotta be pushed through and Sir Maurice is willing to cough up for time and a half for the blokes—that’s YDI’s top boss, in England, he has the final say-so about the finances—what I was gonna say, we don’t normally work weekends, so I could get an evening flight to Sydney—”

    “Then drive seven hundred K at the end of a hard working week. Don’t even think about it,” said Lisbet on a grim note. “If you made it here safely, you’d be completely shagged out. We’d have a bit of Saturday and Saturday night together and then you’d have to leave at crack of dawn. And incidentally, how far is this site in Tazzie from the nearest—make that from a big airport with interstate flights?”

    “Not that f—” He met her eye. “It’s about three hundred K out of Hobart. Nice spot, not too far from a trout river. Cold as buggery in winter, of course, but that was Sir Maurice’s choice, us little people don’t argue.”

    “Good, you’ve got into the habit of it,” said Lisbet drily, “so you needn't argue when I say there’s no way you’re gonna commute from there to here.”

    George just looked at her meekly.

    Lisbet had to swallow. “Sorry, came on a bit strong. No, well, there’s long weekends.”

    “Yeah,” he agreed gratefully. “We did have to work a lot of weekends on the Blue Gums Ecolodge project, so I had quite a lot of leave—YDI are pretty generous about that sort of thing but they work you like stink if you’re at managerial level—but I won’t be able to take any more until the new project’s finished. And, um, there won’t be all the scrounging for materials like I hadda to do for Blue Gums, but, um, I gotta admit, you never know with this sort of project work: if there’s some nice old doors going begging or something like that I might have to use a long weekend to go and check them out.”

    “I see. Maybe I could come down there for the odd week or so, then.”

    George brightened. “Hell, yeah! That’d be great! –I’d pay your fares,” he added, suddenly frowning.

    To his astonishment Lisbet replied calmly: “I rather think you’d have to, I’ve got three hundred and two dollars and four cents in the bank.”

    “Where did the four cents come from?” said George limply.

    “Well, ya can’t buy anything for so many dollars and six cents cash, can ya, ’cos they always round the cents off, and I’ve never bought anything online, so it couldn't have been that, and I haven’t got a credit card so it couldn’t have been that. Left over when they whacked off the flaming bank charges, I think,” replied Lisbet logically.

    “Yes, that’s gotta be it, come to think of it!” said George with a sudden laugh. “I’d forgotten how logical your mind is,” he explained cheerfully.

    Lisbet eyed him cautiously. “That’s good, is it?”

    “Too right.”

    Okay, that was good. In her time she’d been told disapprovingly by her mother and various aunts and female friends and approvingly by various tits of boyfriends that her mind was like a man’s, but George didn’t say it. Lisbet downed her tea and sighed deeply. “Wanna go to bed and get it over with?”

    “Yeah, actually! I mean I wasn’t gonna say no but, um, I am Helluva nervous.”

    “Me, too. It’s been a while.”

    “It can’t of been as long as in my case! I gotta admit it, I’m not gonna be able to do a thing for ya, I’ll just come like a rocket—”

    “Yeah, that’s okay,” said Lisbet mildly, standing up. “Come on, then. Oh—you don’t need to worry about using a condom. I wouldn’t say I’m completely over the flaming menopause but I haven’t had a period in four months and the fucking hot flushes have stopped at last. I might still get the occasional night sweat but it can be very humid up here at night, so it’s hard to tell.”

    “Sounds bad,” said George shakily, not really knowing what he was saying.

    “Well, lots of moos claim it is, but what’s a hot head and a few sweats? It’s a natural process, after all. Actually I’ve felt more energised than anything. They do say it can take you that way. And the thought of never having to cope with another period will get you through almost anything, I can tell ya!” she said with a laugh, sitting down on the big bed with its unusual bedspread composed of six strips of single sheets stitched together, the outside strips that hadn’t worn thin, and hauling off her sneakers.

    “I see,” said George feebly. “I never thought of precautions, sorry. I haven’t got anything catching, though. Well, ya have to do it to catch anything, don’tcha?”

    “Good point.” Lisbet removed her clothes, peeled back the bedspread and the sheet politely and got into the bed. “Nothing to stop us, then, is there?” she said with a grin.

    “Too right!” agreed George gratefully, tearing off his clothes and falling on top of her.

    “So it went okay?” said Jack with a twinkle in his eye when he finally got back to Potters Road.

    George grinned. “Pretty much, yeah! She’s gonna come down to Tazzie for a week soon as I’ve got sorted. Dunno that that motel Jim Thompson found for the crew is all that flash, but it’ll have to do.”

    “She’s not the sort of dame that’d mind, George,” he said mildly.

    “No, thank Christ! Thought we’d see how it goes, ya know? Dad’ll come down for Easter like we planned—I’ll take another motel room for him—and they can get to know each other; might all spend next Christmas up at her place if they like each other.”

    “Sounds okay. Can’t imagine any sane bloke not liking her, George, and Andy’s as sane as they get.”

    “What I thought,” George agreed gratefully. “Well, you gonna come down and help us with the project? I know Gil’d like you to put up his pink house for him, but he can’t afford it yet.”

    “No, and him and Rosemary are pretty comfy in the Jardine place for the time being. Um, dunno. S’pose I’ll come, gotta earn a crust,” he said glumly.

    “Mm. What about the interior of Nefertite’s house, though, Jack?”

    “Bunged the kitchen cupboards in for her, no sweat: all prefabricated, only took a morning. Bought a stove from old George Kelly at Barrabarra Hardware, in the end. She’s not into cooking, didn’t know what she was looking at, actually.”

    “Oh. What about the rest of the interiors?”

    “She’s no good at that sort of stuff, doesn’t know what she wants. That poncy flat she used to own, she threw megabucks at some gay interior decorator to do it all for her, evidently.”

    “Ya don’t mean Dot let her?” he croaked.

    “Eh? No! Not the flat she was in in Sydney, that was only rented, ya tit! No, place she used to own in London. Sold it a while back.”

    “Oh,” said George feebly. “Right. So, the interior of the house isn’t finished yet?”

    “Hardly. You only been away four days, George,” he said drily.

    “Feels like a lifetime—a good lifetime!” admitted George with a laugh. “Well, you better stay on, finish it off for her.”

    “But I said, she doesn’t know what she wants.”

    “Then you better decide it for her, Jack. Try making a few other decisions in that direction, while you’re at it, too. There’s been enough of blokes treating women really badly round these parts, with bloody Pete walking out on Honey like that.” George yawned widely and managed to ignore the fact that Jack had gone very red. “Think I’ll have a shower and a kip. Dad down the pub, is ’e?”

    “Yeah. Left a note saying he’d grab a couple of frozen pizzas from the so-called supermarket for tea.”

    “They charge twice as much as the place in Barrabarra— Oh, well. Why not?” Yawning, George headed off to the bathroom.

    It was a windy day but the weather was holding—in fact it was really hot. Jack went slowly outside and right up the back to the low cliff above the creek, where he just sat in the sun for some time, staring at the view of the endless blue ranges of New South Wales.

    He was up early next morning, like usual. There was no sign of Andy or George, also like usual. He made a cup of coffee, considerately leaving the milk for George and Andy, since there wasn’t much, and went up the back, along the track—more defined, now, the horses had been using it a lot—skirted the big rocky outcrop, crossed the Jardine property and headed down towards the crafts centre, the Walsinghams’ house and Nefertite’s new yellow house. He didn’t go over and get on with the job: he went down to David and Dot’s little picket fence. It now adjoined a solid wall which enclosed their vege garden. Its little wicket gate was painted dark red to match the house—looked good.

    She was practising them scales, all right. Up with the birds, sang like a bird! Jack stepped over the picket fence and went closer.

    He came to when there was a gap in the music and said under his breath: “All right, Jackson, don’t put it off.” He went round to the back door. It was locked, but he knew where the spare key was: under the third herb pot from the end. He unlocked the back door, crossed the kitchen quietly, and tapped on Nefertite’s door.

    “Come in.”

    Jack went in. “Hullo.”

    “Hullo, Jack,” said Nefertite in astonishment, staring at him.

    “I thought it was about time I fronted up and admitted I always listen to you in the mornings.”

    “What?” she faltered.

    “Like I said. Stand just out there,” he said, nodding at the window.

    Nefertite looked dazedly at her Venetian blind. “Out there? I usually keep the blind almost closed, because one time I forgot I’d raised it and left it up all day and the room got terribly hot in the afternoon.”

    “Would do, faces west.”

    “Yes,” she said numbly. “Well, of course I don’t mind if you listen, Jack. But it’s mainly scales.”

    “Yes. Up and down, eh? I like them. Bit like the maggies.”

    From the doorway a sardonic voice drawled: “Possibly you mean like the wise thrush: she sings each scale twice over, lest she never could recapture the first fine, careless—”

    “David! Leave them alone!”

    “—rapture,” finished David smoothly. “There’ll be some real coffee in a moment, or tea if you prefer.”

    “Close the door, Jack, he can be a real pest,” said his sister with a frown.

    “You said it.” Jack closed the door.

    “I—I was in the middle of it,” said Nefertite lamely, looking at the sheet of music she was clutching.

    “Yeah. I could stay or go, whichever you like.”

    “Stay, by all means, Jack, if you think you won’t be bored. I've got about another twenty minutes to do.”

    “I’ll stay, then.” Jack sat down on the edge of the bed.

    Rather uncertainly Nefertite got on with it.

    “That was good. It’s not always the same, eh?” he said when she’d finished. “You always start off the same, though.”

    “Yes, the voice exercises. Then scales—they exercise the voice, too, of course—and then I usually go over any piece I’m working on.”

    “I get it,” he said nodding. “That’s a funny one. Modern, is it?”

    “Mm,” she agreed, automatically handing him the music she’d been working from.

    “It’s all Greek to me!” said Jack with a grin.

    Nefertite clapped her hand to her mouth, but failed to prevent the cascade of giggles.

    “It’s nice when you laugh, too. Some people sound really awful when they laugh, you ever noticed that?”

    “Yes,” she said weakly. “I’m glad I don’t sound awful. Um, is there something about the house you need to discuss?”

    “Not as such. Well, George has been chewing my ear. Said I oughta make the decisions for you.” He glanced warily at the door but it remained firmly closed.

    “About the colour schemes?” said Nefertite uncertainly. “Deanna said that ‘When in doubt paint it white’ is the first rule of interior decorating. I thought perhaps if the walls were white and I lived in it for a while I might gradually decide how I wanted it.”

    “That sounds okay to me. No need to rush into it, eh?”

    “No.”

    He took a very deep breath. “Look, there’s something else I gotta say. Um, well, I think you do know that I fancy you like nobody’s biz.”

    “I—I sort of thought perhaps you did,” she admitted, swallowing hard.

    Jack’s eyes twinkled. “’Specially in that loose thing ya wear to practise in.”

    “It’s a Hawaiian muumuu,” said Nefertite faintly.

    “That right? Good on it. Um, well, the thing is, do you feel the same?”

    “Yes,” Nefertite admitted with tears in her eyes.

    “Oh,” said Jack limply. “Good. Well, thing is, we got practically nothing in common. I like your singing and we both like a meal of steak and chips, but apart from that I don’t think there’s a single thing in our lives that’s the same.”

    Nefertite didn’t attempt to argue: she just looked at him meekly out of those huge dark eyes. Were there any other females at all that wouldn’t of put their two cents’ worth in at that point? Well, that was a plus, at any rate!

    “Um, I’m pretty broke, so I thought if I push off to Tazzie with George,”—Oh, Christ, looked like she was gonna bawl! Well, not entirely a bad sign, but— “Um, thing is, with nothing in common, maybe it’ll give us time to think about it, Nefertite!” he said on a desperate note. “Well, um, there maybe is an alternative... Well, do some more temping in Sydney, and come up for the weekends? Stay on with Andy, he’d be glad of the company. We could, um, see a bit of each other. Just, um, as friends, I thought.”

    She still didn’t say anything but a tear rolled down her velvety oval face.

    “Oh, shit!” croaked Jack, stumbling to his feet. “Don’t cry, love. It’s no use thinking we got stuff in common when we haven’t, so if we just stay friends for a bit—”

    “I—can’t—do—it!” she sobbed.

    Very gingerly Jack put an arm round her. “Can’t do what?” he said into the mop of black curls that she’d just pinned up on top untidily.

    “Have a Platonic relationship! Not with you, Jack!” sobbed Nefertite.

    Boy, that was flattering. Jack cleared his throat. “Lovey, what if it doesn’t work out?” he said in a very low voice.

    “I’d rather—take—the risk!” sobbed Nefertite. “I can’t go on doing—the other—thing!”

    “Yeah. Okay,” said Jack hoarsely. “We won’t, then. Blow your nose—here.” He gave her his hanky, realising too late that it was the one that had got engine grease on it—it had been washed, it was clean, but that was a horrible black stain.

    Nefertite blew her nose dolefully, not looking at him. “I’d better go to Greece. Aunty Ariadne’d have me.”

    “The worst of the dragons?” said Jack in horror. “Don’t do that!”

    “If you don’t want to live together I don’t want to stay here,” she said soggily, blowing her nose again.

    “But I do!” he cried, starting to sweat. “What do you think I just said?”

    “You said we won’t,” she said, looking up at him in bewilderment.

    “No, I never. Well, dunno what I actually said, but what I meant was if you can’t hack a Platonic relationship then we won’t have one—”

    “There you are, then,” she said dully.

    “No, ya twit!” said Jack cordially to the world-famous operatic contralto. “Boy, you’ve got a low opinion of yaself, for a dame with your looks and figure! I meant we won’t have a flaming Platonic thing, we’ll live together, all right?”

    “Yuh-yes,” she faltered in astonishment. “Live together? With—with sex, Jack?”

    “With loads of sex!” said Jack with a loud laugh. “You better believe it! To heck with the rest, eh? We’ll work that out when we come to it!”

    “Yes,” said Nefertite gratefully, holding up her face. “That sounds like a good plan, Jack.”

    “Something like that!” said Jack with a crazy laugh, kissing her at last.

    ... “Oh, boy,” he said finally. “I knew it was there, mind you, but crikey!”

    “Yes!” gasped Nefertite, panting.

    His hand was just investigating the bulges under the colourful muumuu when the door opened, from somewhere in the hinterland a voice cried agitatedly: “Rose! Come back here!” and a little clear voice said: “Gonna do my practice wiv Aunty Nefertite. Doh, ray, me, fah, soh, la, tee, doh!”

    “Cripes,” gulped Jack, goggling. “She was spot-on!”

    “Yes,” said Nefertite, very flushed and smiling. “I’ve finished, Rose, but you can do your practice.”

    “Jingle bell, jingle bell, jingle bell rock!” she carolled obligingly.

    “Sorry!” gasped Dot, rushing in very, very pink.

    “I’d finished, really,” said Nefertite, smiling.

    “Nah, only just got started, actually,” drawled Jack, tightening his arm round her waist.

    “Well, yes!” Nefertite agreed with a gurgle.

    Dot scooped her awful infant up. “Really? That’s great! –Come on, Nosy-Posy-Parker, we’ll leave them to it.”

    “Don’t be silly, Dot, darling,” said her sister-in-law, smiling. “We’ll come and have breakfast, of course.”

    “In just a minute,” said Jack firmly.

    “Righto, Jack!” agreed Dot with a laugh, going out to the accompaniment of loud screeches of objection.

    “I hadn’t finished,” explained Jack, kissing her again. This time she got an arm round his neck: it sort of raised ’em against a bloke’s chest, ya know? Not half bad!

    “Tell ya what,” he said as she panted, “we could nip into town straight after breakfast, buy a nice big mattress, bung it in the bedroom over in your house and get on with it, eh?”

    “Yes, I mean— Well, yes, lovely, darling! But, um, shall we live there, Jack?”

    “Hell, yeah! Where else?” said Jack cheerfully.

    “Oh, lovely. But, um, oh dear,” worried Nefertite. “How will you manage? You can't possibly commute during the week—”

    “Grab her!” came a shriek from the hinterland.

    “Sorry!” gasped David as Rose toddled in again. “Took my eye off her for an instant. –You won’t need to commute during the week, you can board with Dot’s Aunty Allyson.”

    Jack’s sky-blue eyes twinkled. “The dreaded Aunty Allyson, eh?”

    Nefertite bit her lip. “Bob said that Ted had a dummy-spit at the mere idea.”

    “Threw a fit? He would, he’s a bit of a tit,” replied Jack simply. “Yeah, good one, David.”

    “Good,” said David mildly. “And I was up at Blue Gums talking to Alfie the other day and evidently that idiot who’s supposed to look after the grounds is completely hopeless. Think you could be in there with a chance. Sounds as if Vince is itching for an excuse to sack him.”

    Nefertite looked fearfully at Jack. Would he want that sort of job?

    But Jack just said mildly, squeezing her into his side: “Goodoh. Two strings to me bow, then, eh? Come on, you lot, breakfast!”

    And that was pretty much that. Potters Road and domesticity with Nefertite, eh? Couldn’t be bad!

    ... Funny to think if it hadn’t been for meeting George and then taking the job at Blue Gums Ecolodge they’d never even have met. Well, that was life, eh? You just never knew.

“THE ROAD TO BLUE GUMS”

has wound to an end

But you can follow the fate of the ecolodge and the denizens of Potters Road in

“TEMPS”

https://temps-anovel.blogspot.com/