Chapter 16
Sydney’s urban sprawl stretched further these days.
Once upon a time, there’d been green paddocks here, where the tiny airport that hosted Sydney Skydiving was perched beside the Hume Highway, a highway that headed all the way to Melbourne.
These days it was surrounded by street after street of grey-roofed houses with tiny yards and depressing uniformity.
Sure, it might be what the owners could afford, but Jordan was glad to have grown up in an area that showcased bigger yards and more interesting architecture.
He had been tempted to take the train before realising that this was a perfect opportunity to move more of his stuff back home before he had to move out of the share house for good next weekend when James and Rachael returned from their honeymoon.
So his car was packed with furniture and bits and bobs, as his mum might say, many of those household items she’d given him when he’d first moved out all those years ago.
It would be funny living on the farm again.
But given the changes in technology and Dean’s permission for him to work from home, it made sense to stay there.
Dad was getting on and could probably do with another pair of hands around the farm.
Dad employed a few people, but it wasn’t the same as having someone who lived on-site.
He passed along Pheasants Nest Bridge, another of the long concrete bridges that stretched over the snaking Nepean River.
To the left was dense bushland and dams that helped supply Sydney’s water.
To the right was a scattering of tiny villages where people had long ago carved out settlements now surrounded by more state conservation area that saw bushfires break out every ten or so years.
The highway inclined as he ascended into the Highlands, closer to home.
He’d miss the first two exits that led to the area’s major towns and keep chugging on to one of the minor side roads that led to some of the larger farms in the area.
Farms that had been in families for generations.
In rainy weather, it wasn’t always possible to travel this way, given the creek that crossed the road and made him grateful for his vehicle’s four-wheel-drive capability.
But this approach to home was far more restful than seeing how the towns had changed, with yet more great tracts of housing that seemed plonked down without much consideration for the locals.
Where were all these new people supposed to shop or go to school?
Where were the roads and other infrastructure to support thousands of new homes?
Still, he knew he sounded too much like his parents if he dwelt on such things for too long, so he turned his thoughts towards more pleasant things. Like the fact that it was a long weekend and he could finally take some time off from work.
He turned into Highbury Drive, between two giant oaks displaying the last of their scarlet leaves, and drove the half kilometre along the dirt road to park outside the sandstone garage that had once been the colonial-era settlers’ house.
Bella, their terrier, zipped around the corner, her bark holding a savagery unappreciated by the mailman.
Then she recognised him and joyfully leaped up onto his jeans, begging for a head rub.
“Hello, girl. It’s good to see you.”
“You’re here at last!” Mum came out, drying her hands on a tea towel. He’d bet she’d been making scones. It was her usual go-to whenever he came home.
“Hey, Mum.” He squeezed her.
“Oh, it’s good to see you.” She patted his cheek. “You look tired, Son.”
“Thanks.”
She swatted him. “You know what I mean. Have they been working you too hard?”
“Hard, but not too hard. It’s been okay.” It’d been great, actually, to have something to distract him from the other thoughts that clattered through his brain. The ones that, despite his prayers, had continued to peck and claw at his peace of mind.
Like the ones that had started when he’d seen a blurry picture and headline of ERIC CHURCHILL AND HIS MYSTERY brUNETTE on a magazine cover. Another online, when they’d been kissing. His stomach clenched at the memory.
“Jordan?” His mum frowned, her brow creasing. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
He yawned. “Sorry. It was a long drive. It felt like everyone was trying to escape Sydney this afternoon.”
“A long weekend will always do that.” She patted his arm. “Well, never mind. Come on in. I’ve got fresh scones.”
He smiled. “I hoped you’d say that.”
“And I know it’s later than you said it might be, but they’re still warm.”
“You’re not worried I’m gonna spoil my appetite for dinner?”
“I’m trusting that your appetite for dinner remains the same as it’s always been.”
He opened the rear door to retrieve some of his things, but she shook her head. “Leave that. It’ll still be there in the morning.”
“Okay.” He didn’t have to be asked twice. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and walked with her inside the house, Bella yapping at their heels.
The farmhouse had always been home, and just like he remembered, it retained a quaint charm of yesteryear.
Sometimes he thought it would be worthy of a photographic shoot like for a country living magazine.
Mum took pride in creating a calm interior, with fresh flowers and clean spaces and lots of wood and antiques.
One sunshine-yellow wall of the kitchen held an assortment of china plates, and the fireplace crackled, warming the flagstone tiles.
He moved to the large glass doors that overlooked the paddocks, bordered by the hedges so popular around here.
People said this part of New South Wales held similar traits to England, and the greenness and hedges and plentiful old-world trees certainly testified to that.
Sunset tinted the dams with pinkish hues, and he was glad Dean had given his employees a rare early mark so Jordan had left work ahead of his regular schedule and arrived here before the snarl of Sydney traffic had made the trip worse.
He loved it here. Loved the peace. Loved the serenity.
He understood why EJ had felt trapped, but this place soothed his heart, made him feel like he was okay.
Seasons would pass, the world would keep on turning, and God was in control.
From here he could see where Dad had stacked a pile of wood near one of the dams ready for the bonfire tomorrow night.
A pang hit him that EJ wouldn’t be here to celebrate her birthday.
She’d confirmed it yesterday, with another of those breezy, too-brief messages.
“Spending the weekend with Eric in Sydney, so not coming down to Wattle Vale.”
Disappointment had creased his chest, and he hadn’t been able to help himself.
“Spending the weekend??” he’d asked.
An eye roll emoji had been her reply.
So he took that to mean she’d be in Sydney, seeing Eric. Not any other way like most people seemed to mean by “spending the weekend.” He hoped, anyway.
His fingers clenched, hurt banding around his chest like a vice.
“Here you go.” Mum handed him a plate with two halves of a warm scone, butter melting into the orbs of golden goodness. “Thanks.” He bit into one half, and gladness chased away some of the earlier tension.
“I hope we’ll see those shoulders drop from your ears by the time this weekend is done.”
The only way that would happen was if he were to know once and for all that EJ and Eric were not a thing.
But—they had to be a thing, right? All this wining and dining.
Being on a yacht. Kissing. His stomach tightened.
Eric’s interest obviously was not about Dream Match anymore.
And as much as he appreciated EJ’s good qualities, her generosity and care for others, he still couldn’t quite believe that Eric knew her well enough to appreciate her good qualities too.
Something still seemed off about the man.
“Want another one?” Mum asked.
“Sure. Thanks. They’re really good.”
“I know.” She winked at him and set about making up a plate with warm scones decorated with jam and cream. “Here you go.”
“Thanks, Mum.” He hugged her and accepted the plate and dug in.
He hoped this weekend would help and not just lead to more heartache and regret.
The bonfire flames lit up the night, the cold air seeping past his thick wool-lined jacket and beanie, nipping at his ears.
Around him, neighbours and people from church laughed and toasted marshmallows and clinked enamel cups of hot chocolate, but he felt separate, even though he was in the midst of a crowd.
This, the first long weekend bonfire without EJ, felt all wrong.
She was supposed to be here beside him, looking up at him with those big blue eyes as they laughed and swapped stories and spilled secrets.
Like the time when he’d been in year 7 and confessed that he didn’t want to play footy anymore but didn’t want his older brother looking down on him.
Or the time when she’d been sixteen and wondered aloud if “sweet sixteen and never been kissed” was an actual saying, and if so, who had first come up with it.
He knew she’d been a little worried that there was something wrong with her because no guy had dared.
And he’d assured her that the reason no guy had dared was because she intimidated them.
“And I don’t intimidate you?” she’d teased.
“Not a bit,” he’d fibbed, not wanting to admit she was smarter and funnier and did everything better than him, so of course all males were scared, himself included.
She’d nestled her shoulder on his. “And that’s why you’re my best friend.”
He hadn’t minded at the time, but now as he looked back on it, he wondered what would have happened if he’d just owned the truth.
If he’d admitted that she did scare him.
That she was practically perfect in every way.
She probably would have laughed and told him to get his head checked. Maybe there was still time …