Chapter 13 #2
“Oh, no,” Finlay said. “Snowball! Snowball! He’s not meant to go out,” he told Zane. “But he always tries. Now I suppose I have to go find him. Olive!” he suddenly shouted at the top of his lungs. “Come help me look for Snowball!”
No answer, or the second time Finlay yelled, either. Duncan said, “I’ll help. I like cats.”
“You do?” Finlay looked at him curiously. “Why?”
Duncan shrugged. “I like most animals, I guess. We don’t have any, but I still like them.”
“Oh,” Finlay said. “Well, come on then.”
Zane shut the door behind them and looked at his grandmother.
She looked back at him, eyes bright and somehow mischievous.
Fortunately, Geoffrey arrived at that moment.
He clapped his hands on seeing them, beamed, and said, “There you are. And there you are,” he told Nan.
“A sight for sore eyes, as always.” He kissed her cheek, stood back, laughed, and kissed it again, and Scarlett muttered, “Hopeless.”
Zane nudged her, and she said, “Ouch!” just as Geoffrey finally got over the shock of seeing the woman he’d been seeing five days a week for months on end and said, “Come in. Come in. We’re a bit at sixes and sevens still, I’m afraid.
Oh, you brought the wine. Good. Skylar’s in the kitchen, and she’ll be wanting that.
For the cooking, you know, as well as the drinking. ”
“Fortunately,” Zane said, lifting his carrier bag, “I came well prepared.”
“Maybe you’ll take that in to her, then,” Geoffrey said blandly. “She’s looked out some games and such for the kids. Come help me get them started with that, Maureen, if you will. Oh, yes, here are George and Olive come to join us. Well, now. Isn’t this cozy.”
It wasn’t hard to find the kitchen. It wasn’t a very big house.
Small lounge, smaller dining area with an oval table and six basic wooden chairs.
A turn to the left, and there she was. Curls, flushed cheeks, jeans, and a purple jersey, the clothes hugging those curves.
Bare feet, and toenails painted pink. At the moment, she was turning off the fire under an enormous pot, then grabbing the handles with two tea towels.
“I’ll do it,” he said, setting his carrier bag on the benchtop.
She jumped, hit the heel of her hand on the pan, and swore under her breath.
“OK?” he asked. “Burn yourself?”
“A bit. I’ve got this. Just a … just a second. Bloody— I need to drain these noodles right now.” She was waving the burned hand in the air.
“Let me.” He took the pot from her and headed to the sink. There was a colander in there. Good. He dumped the boiling water carefully, and as soon as the noodles landed in the pot—fettucine, that was—said, “Go ahead and—” And jumped himself.
Water was coming out under the cabinet door. Not a little water. A gush of water. He stepped back, and Skylar said, “What—” and moved forward.
He threw an arm across her chest. She gasped, and he said, “Stand back. It’s hot.” There was steam rising from the puddle, because that boiling pasta water had gone down the drain and straight out the pipe. “You have a leak.”
“I have a …” Her hands were in the air, then in her hair. “No. How?”
“Pipe,” he said.
“Well, thank you,” she said. “I’d sussed out that much.
” She laughed, not quite steadily, then put a fist to her forehead.
“Give me a second here. This is …” She waved an arm.
“This isn’t the only thing. Oh, bugger.” She looked around fast, but nobody else was in there. “Sorry. Language. But—oh, bugger.”
He took her by the shoulders, turned her around, and said, “Go get some house shoes on and bandage that hand while I clean this up and sort out what to do. No worries. This is fixable.”
The hands up by her head, then down again. “Right. You’re right. Of course you’re right.” Voice not quite steady. “I’m not going to be embarrassed. I am not.”
“Well, good,” he said. “Go do it, then.” She had paper towels, at least. He wouldn’t tell Scarlett about her eco-terrorism.
He mopped up the water on the floor, using about half the roll, then opened the cabinet doors, pulled everything out of there, and used the other half mopping up the water inside.
It was easy to tell what was leaking, as water was still dripping down around a worn spot in the pipe.
It was rusty, and there was quite a puddle back there.
Leaking for a good while, he was guessing.
He found the lever to turn off the water to sink and dishwasher and was examining the problem when Skylar came back in wearing house shoes.
“Oh, no,” she said, looking at the collection of rubbish bags and cleaning products littering the floor. “Is it bad?”
“No,” he said. “Cut out this bad bit of pipe, put in a new piece, add your couplers, and you’re golden. Old galvanized piping, that’s all, and this house wasn’t built yesterday. Probably best to replace all of it with PVC.”
“Yes,” she said, her tone dry. “I’ll get right on that.
But how I am I going to cook dinner with no water?
I could—I have some frozen pizza, but probably not enough.
It’ll have to be takeaway. But this fish …
” She opened the fridge and showed him the fillets stacked on a plate.
Hoki, it looked like, and kilos of it. Well, nothing wrong with hoki.
“It won’t keep past tomorrow,” she said, “but I can freeze it. I should’ve bought the frozen ones in the first place.
They would’ve been—” She broke off. Cheaper, he thought.
She’d bought this fresh, because she’d wanted to make something nice.
“Well,” she went on more briskly, “Granddad can get a plumber in tomorrow, and we’ll—stack the dirty dishes in the dishwasher until this is fixed, I reckon.
And wash the dishes we need in the bath.
An adventure.” She bit her lip, and he thought, A plumber isn’t in the budget. And takeaway isn’t either.
“I have an idea,” he said.
She laughed a little, even if it was forced, and shoved her hair back again with one arm. He did like that hair. “I imagine you do. Well done last night, by the way. I should’ve said that first.”
“What, while you were burning yourself? Nah. Here’s my idea.
We pack up whatever you’ve got here for tea and take it to my house.
I have most things, so no need to worry about olive oil and so forth.
Get to work over there, and I’ll grab a few tools, come back here, and fix this pipe well enough to hold you until the plumber comes. ”
“How?” she asked. “I’m not much chop at DIY. Granddad knows more, but—”
“But you don’t want him on his back under the sink,” Zane said.
“Whereas it’ll be the most comfortable thing I’ve done in days.
And, yeh, I know how to do it. A headlamp, a bit of epoxy putty, and some pipe repair tape, and it’ll hold even if the plumber can’t get here for another day or two.
” She still looked too rattled, so he put a hand on her face, on that soft skin, and felt the equally soft curls.
She looked up at him and tried to smile, chin wobbling despite her best efforts, and he asked, “Hard day?”
She blinked, and then she blinked again, eyes bright with sudden tears.
“You could say so. The extra table and chairs I needed didn’t arrive from my neighbors.
I tried to bring in the big table from the outside, but it was heavy, and it’s wet, and—” She shrugged and tried hard to smile, but the tears were still there.
“I wanted to be … not impressive, maybe, but I wanted to at least be competent!
I am competent. It may not look like it right now, but—"
His heart contracted. That didn’t happen, except with his kids, but it was happening anyway. “I know you’re competent,” he said. “I’ve seen it. Two kids in your class, remember? You’re keeping all these balls in the air. Not hard to see that.” He wasn’t going to tell her about the cat. Not now.
She bit a trembling lip. He hadn’t moved his hand, and she hadn’t moved away. “I have Granddad,” she said. “I’m not alone.”
“I think,” he said, “that you’re alone too much. And somehow, kids don’t count. I know, because I sometimes feel that way too.”
Her eyes flew to his. “How can that be? You’re dating. Whatever your sister said in that column, we all knew it was rubbish. You’re the last thing from alone.”
“I wouldn’t have said so, no. But it could be true all the same.” He smiled at her ruefully, and then—well, yes, he brushed his lips over hers. She was right there, mouth still trembling a little, eyes bright, skin soft, all of her uncertain and a little sad, and he couldn’t help it.
When his lips touched hers, he felt the shock of the contact straight down his body. Not possible, he thought in confusion. And then he didn’t, because her hand came up to grip his shoulder, and he was kissing her again. Still softly, but his other hand was on her low back, and—
“Mum.” A pause, and then, “Mum.” Shock in the voice.
He stepped back, and Skylar turned, a smile instantly on her face. “Finlay,” she said. “Are you hosting our guests? Getting out the games?”
“You’re not cooking,” Finlay pointed out, his eyes going between the two of them. He was holding the cat, at least. Good. The cat was also gazing balefully at Zane, he’d swear. He was not popular in this house.
“No,” Skylar said. “I’m not, because we’ve had a wee kitchen disaster in here.
The pipe’s burst under the sink, so we’re—Mr. Mahuta and I are working on a new plan.
We’re going to his house with all my lovely food, and I’ll cook it there.
They used to call this a ‘progressive dinner,’ where you had part of the meal at one house and then moved on to another house for the next course.
Like bring a plate, but bring a house instead. ”
Finlay ignored that as the diversion it was. “So that’s what you call it,” he said. “Working on a new plan.”
“Yes,” she said ignoring both the tone and the accusing eyes.
“And it’s time to get cracking. Go find a washing basket and a clean sheet, and you can help me pack this up.
And I hope,” she told Zane, “that you’ve got two bottles of wine in there.
I need some for what I’m cooking, and I could also use a glass myself.
For courage, you know.” She said it lightly, a smile on her soft mouth. Back under control.
“I do,” he said, “and you can have it. I’ve got all the courage you want. No worries.”