EIGHT
Eight
‘So,’ Bel said once they were alone. ‘Here we are.’
‘Here we are.’
‘You’ve come on a great day for exploring Wessex. It’s normally not this busy,’ she said.
‘I know. I remember from when I drove through here the other day. This is a vast improvement.’
Bel felt a moment of discomfort as she recalled that first day. It was a blessing, really, that he didn’t remember her.
‘This is the pub,’ she said, deciding she may as well jump into tour-guide mode. ‘We have the Chinese restaurant across the road and, just outside of town, we have the truck stop, which actually does a decent burger.’
‘Ah, yes. The Big Burger.’ Tate nodded wisely.
‘Yes. That’s the one. The grocery store,’ Bel continued as they strolled down the street. ‘The bakery and chemist. That used to be the newsagent, but it closed down, which is why we now sell lottery and scratchies at the general store.’
‘We?’ he asked.
‘Uh … as a collective, I mean.’ It wasn’t that she didn’t want him to know they’d already met; it was just that since it hadn’t come up before, it coming up now would be awkward.
‘Why do you still live here, Bel?’ he asked after a few beats of silence.
The question took her by surprise. ‘I don’t know. It’s home, I suppose. The only one I remember.’
‘Don’t you want to go out and explore the world?’
Bel moved her shoulders slightly. ‘Well, yes. I guess. I keep meaning to do it, and it just hasn’t happened. I mean, I was all set to leave town when I was younger, but then Gran got sick. I guess it kind of stretched out longer than I originally thought it would.’
‘But there’s nothing stopping you leaving now?’ he asked, glancing across at her.
‘I guess not,’ she said.
‘So why don’t you?’
She considered the question before answering. ‘I don’t really have anywhere to go.’
‘Go anywhere.’
‘Oh sure,’ she said with a chuckle, then looked at his face and sobered. ‘I’m not like Larkin. My side of the family doesn’t come from money. I don’t have rich parents to pay for a holiday.’
‘I wasn’t talking about a holiday. Study or get a job somewhere in a field you’ve always been interested in. Go out and experience another city.’
She shook her head quickly, wondering why, when Dean had questioned her the other day about the same thing, it had annoyed her. Yet now, when Tate asked, she found she wasn’t irritated at all. ‘It’s not as easy as just deciding to leave.’
‘It’s exactly as easy as that. You have to make the decision and then the rest will all fall into place.’
Inwardly, she scoffed at his oversimplified advice. He came from money. They all did. They had no idea how most people lived when there was no trust fund to draw from. Like she could click her fingers and get a job and find a house.
‘You should think about it.’
Bel sent him a noncommittal smile and they walked on. A group of boys rode past on skateboards, artfully dodging a few pedestrians ahead of them, but Tate instantly pulled her towards him, holding her firmly against his side as the boys went past in a blur of colour. After they’d gone, he kept his arm around her and Bel thought that if her heart continued to beat so erratically, it might actually burst from her chest.
‘You said you worked for a mining company. Is the company itself based in Perth?’ she asked as a way to distract herself from the warmth of his arm against her waist.
‘It’s actually up in the Pilbara, a couple hundred kilometres from Port Hedland.’
‘Do you spend much time onsite?’
‘I do have to go out there fairly often. But my apartment is in the centre of Perth, right on the river.’
‘That sounds nice.’
‘It is, although I don’t get as much time there as I’d like.’
‘That’s a shame.’
They walked on in silence, listening to the country music blasting from a set of loudspeakers and the chatter of the people strolling around them.
‘You should plan a trip over sometime. I can show you around.’
Bel looked across at him, surprised by the offer, but even more surprised at the fact she didn’t automatically dismiss the idea. That’s … odd. ‘Everything seems remarkably on track for the wedding day,’ she said, changing the conversation to avoid further analysis.
‘It should be,’ he said. ‘They’ve hired one of the best wedding planners in the business.’
Ah yes. Gisele, a name spoken in hushed, reverent tones for months.
‘Hungry?’ he asked as they passed by a caravan that was producing a mouthwatering aroma of barbecued onions and meat.
‘Starving.’
Tate ordered their food, then they found a spot to sit on a bench beneath one of the many trees planted in the centre of the main street, which was now closed to traffic and made the perfect impromptu picnic spot.
‘Tell me about Bel Buckley,’ Tate said as they ate, sitting side by side.
‘Not much to tell. I’m pretty dull.’
‘I doubt that.’ He grinned. ‘Larkin told me bits and pieces.’
‘Oh? Like what?’
‘That your parents died when you were young, and you were raised by your grandparents. That you live in your gran’s house and that she’s tried to get you to move to the city but you seem stuck out here.’
‘I wouldn’t say I was stuck,’ Bel said, and again wondered why she didn’t feel the same outrage at Tate’s comments that she’d felt at Dean’s. Maybe Dean bringing it up had hit a little too close to home. When he’d known her, her dreams for the future had been very different to what she’d chosen.
‘You must get bored, though? I mean, what do you do all day? Surely if you like to shop and go out, it would be easier closer to the city?’
‘I don’t really need to go shopping and spend all day lunching with friends. I’m not like Larkin and the others.’
‘No, I can see that. I like that about you. The whole socialite thing gets old after a while. I prefer someone with a bit of substance.’ He paused. ‘You’re different to anyone else I’ve ever met, and I can’t pinpoint the reason.’
That would be because you’ve never associated with the working class? That snarky little voice inside Bel’s head was certainly vocal today. She squashed it back down. It wasn’t his fault he came from the same kind of wealth and private school background as her cousin. Although she wondered at his open dismissal of the women he would most likely normally associate with.
At some point, they’d moved closer together and she could feel the solid length of his thigh against her own, which was very distracting—as was whatever cologne he was wearing. She resisted the urge to lean in and sniff his neck.
‘The movie should be starting soon,’ Bel said, searching for something to take her mind off the fact she could almost feel her skin burning from the contact.
‘Actually, I was thinking it would be nice to find some place a little quieter … maybe you could invite me back to your place?’
Bel swallowed. Her place? Alone, with Tate? A roar of desire rushed through her, almost drowning out the noise around them. Her heart rate kicked up a notch as she pictured them sitting together on the lounge, just the two of them, with no distractions. Her gaze dropped to his hands and she imagined them holding her face as he leaned in and kissed her deeply. Her lips and skin tingled at the thought.
‘Ladies and gentlemen!’ the loudspeaker suddenly announced, making Bel jump. ‘Vote counting has now concluded and the winning sculpture will be announced in front of the pub. Please make your way over.’
‘Wow, that was fast,’ Bel murmured. ‘Come on, I don’t want to miss it.’
‘Okay,’ Tate said with good-humoured resignation.
The crowd that gathered filled both sides of the main road and there was a palpable hum of curiosity in the air. Bel spotted Bob Baxter standing close to the front of the pub, wearing a jovial grin as he shook hands with people around him. Bel had never liked the man. There had been rumours circulating for years about some of his dodgier dealings and there had always been something insincere about the way he smiled, something she’d never really trusted.
He was a self-made man, having built his truck stop up into a very successful business, and he’d grown his empire with purchases of fuel stations across the Central West as well as his own transport business. In the early years, he’d tried to bully the Dwyers into selling him their business too. When that hadn’t worked, he’d tried to lure their customers away by lowering his fuel to ridiculous prices the small business hadn’t a hope of matching. But the people of Wessex had not abandoned Dwyers’. It was part of the local fabric, an icon of the town, and it suited locals to buy fuel in the centre of town instead of driving the kilometre or so out to Baxter’s. So Dwyers’ had survived. Bel suspected it was something that still irked Bob to this day.
Betty Miller made her way through the pub doorway and out to the microphone that had been set up on the footpath, tapping it and setting off a high-pitched squeal that had everyone wincing.
‘It has been my great pleasure to oversee this historic event. Putting Wessex on the tourism map has been a dream myself and the progress committee have shared for many decades. With the commencement of this latest project, not only will we provide some local jobs but we will also open up our little town to the rest of the country and beyond, bringing greater prosperity to us all. Without further ado, I am happy to announce the statue with the most votes, which will become our town’s mascot, is … Elvis Peckley!’
The gathered crowd cheered, and Bel joined in. Now the festival really had something to really celebrate. For all Betty’s dramatic flair, she was right about one thing—Wessex needed a tourism boost before it turned into a ghost town. If they had to pin all their hopes on a statue, Bel was glad it was something like a historical rooster instead of a commercialised giant burger that would only benefit one person; the person who was storming towards the microphone looking anything but jovial.
‘This is ridiculous!’ Bob announced. ‘I demand a recount—and an impartial overseer.’
‘Impartial?’ Betty exclaimed indignantly. ‘Are you insinuating, Robert Baxter, that I was somehow biased?’
‘Everyone knows which way the progress committee wanted this vote to go.’
‘How dare you!’ Betty gasped, reminding Bel of an angry chook as she seemed to puff up to double her size.
‘Wow … this is kind of intense,’ Tate said quietly.
‘We should have grabbed some of that popcorn on our way over,’ Bel whispered back.
‘I’m officially calling for a recount,’ Bob repeated, leaning closer to grab the microphone.
Emma appeared at Bel’s elbow and they swapped incredulous looks. ‘Can he even do that?’ Bel asked.
‘I don’t know. I’m fairly sure there was a “voting decision is final” clause, but I’m not sure about asking for a recount.’
Pandemonium broke out as Betty attempted to wrestle the microphone from Bob’s grip, causing it to squeal loudly again and eliciting a group moan as the audience covered their ears.
Somewhere along the line, the Rotary president, Sid Buchanan, had situated himself in between the warring parties and was now attempting to broker a truce, taking control of the microphone and turning it off, thus ending the background commentary, and choosing instead to raise his voice to announce that they would take a short break to sort things out.
‘The movie’s about to start, we’d better get over there,’ Emma said, turning to walk towards the park across the street.
Bel felt Tate’s hand slip into hers and she looked down at their joined fingers, feeling that previous rush return.
‘You coming, Bel?’ Emma asked, turning around.
‘Uh … actually,’ Bel said, reluctantly dragging her gaze from Tate’s to look at her friend. ‘I think we’re going to head off.’
Emma blinked. ‘Oh. Okay. Are you sure? You always loved movie night. The kids are looking forward to it.’
‘Yeah, I know, but I …’ She glanced over at Tate briefly. ‘Tell the kids I’m sorry. I’ll come out and bring them doughnuts after school.’
‘Okay. If you’re sure …’
What was Emma’s problem? She should be happy that Bel was going to be hanging out with a man. It’s what she’d been trying to push her into for years. And why would she use her children as a guilt measure? That was plain unnecessary.
‘Everything okay?’ Tate asked as Bel watched Emma go.
‘Yeah. Everything’s fine. My car’s over this way.’
Tate slid his arm around her waist and Bel’s previous annoyance was forgotten as butterflies flared to life inside her. A giddy sensation filled her head.
When they pulled up in her driveway a few minutes later, the silence in the car was heavy. She turned off the ignition and they sat together in the growing darkness.
‘Here we are,’ she said, turning towards Tate and trying for a cheerful tone to cover the nervousness that was rapidly trying to overtake her.
A loud rumble of thunder echoed outside. Then the heavens opened and rain began pelting the roof of the car. Before Bel could even register this sudden turn of events, Tate leaned across, his lips touched hers, and she forgot all about the storm outside. She was filled with a heady mix of surprise, lust and the urgent need to move closer.
She wasn’t sure how long they kissed for—it could have been a second or an eternity—but as soon as he eased away, she fought the urge to whimper.
‘I don’t remember making out in a car being this uncomfortable, do you?’ he asked.
Bel resisted the urge to snort. As though she had any experience making out in a car … or anywhere else, for that matter. Her teenage years had clearly not been as exciting as his. She’d lost her virginity to Tubby Smithfield at his brother’s twenty-first birthday party behind his family’s old shearing shed. The only notable thing about it was that Tubby was so drunk, he barely remembered it. She, on the other hand, had spent years trying to forget.
‘You okay to risk making a run for it?’ he asked.
‘Sure,’ she said. She could do with a splash of cold water to help quelch the fire-like sensation that was burning her from the inside out. Launching out of the car, she yelped, racing for the protection of the front porch. Brushing her dripping hair out of her face, she unlocked the front door, frantically trying to recall how tidy the house was. Thankfully, as she shook off droplets of water and scanned the vicinity, she discovered it was in reasonably good order.
‘I’ll get us some towels,’ she said, heading for the bathroom where she quickly patted her face dry and assessed the damage to her hair and make-up before returning to hand him a clean towel.
‘This isn’t how I imagined your house,’ he said as he roughly ran the towel over his face and head.
Really? You imagined my house?
‘It’s a lot more homely than I was picturing.’
‘Is that a bad thing?’ she asked nervously.
‘Not at all. It just surprised me. You journal?’ he asked, bending down to pick up the glossy hardback book in shades of pink and sparkly gold foil.
‘I … uh, yeah. A little bit.’
‘I didn’t imagine you doing that either,’ he said, turning the book over in his hand. She watched nervously, remembering she’d slipped her soulmate list inside for safekeeping.
‘Can I get you a drink? Or a coffee?’ she asked, feeling a rush of relief as he replaced the book on the table. Tate straightened then closed the gap between them, kissing her.
I can’t believe this is really happening . How many nights had she sat curled up on the lounge, reading a scene from a book and longing for it to be happening to her … and now it finally was.
‘God, that day we walked in on the dress fittings, and I saw you—’
Bel pulled back and looked at him. ‘You saw me?’
His soft chuckle distracted her enough to let him continue. ‘I saw … most of you,’ he corrected. ‘I couldn’t stop thinking about you.’
Bel groaned. ‘I feel like such an idiot.’
‘You shouldn’t. That was one of the hottest things I’ve seen in a long time.’
‘What?’
‘Your legs,’ he said, closing his eyes as though to bring forth the image, ‘in those heels, with that sexy backside wiggling about. That was something.’ He opened his eyes again and found hers with a lethal intensity that made her stomach tumble. ‘You’re like no one I’ve ever met.’
She could only imagine. He was used to dating sophisticated, classy women. But the way his voice had gone all rough and gravelly was doing the most amazing things to her body. The books were right. Who knew? She’d always suspected the descriptions of love scenes were pure fantasy, but here she was, swooning and preening like a simpering heroine.
He leaned in and kissed her more deeply, and all humiliation ebbed away on a rush of hungry need.
Surely this was all part of some amazing dream and she was going to wake up on the lounge with her book across her face. And yet, the sensations she was experiencing were all so very … real. Oh God, if this is a dream, please, please, please don’t let me wake up. A long, low moan escaped her as he moved his lips down the column of her throat and lower, sending a quiver of wanton abandonment throughout her body.
Who even was she right now?