FIFTEEN
We arrive as the sun slips behind the river red gums, casting a honeyed glow over the main house.
The air is thick with the scent of dry grass, eucalyptus and something faintly smoky, as if the land itself is exhaling.
Gravel crunches under our shoes as we approach the back porch, where lights flicker to life against the peeling timber.
Dust curls in lazy spirals around our ankles, and insects buzz in the amber light, the whole scene humming with that peculiar outback stillness – alive and quietly watching.
From somewhere inside the house, music filters out – Fleetwood Mac. Dylan reaches for my hand, and I let him take it. Sophia Thornwood – Darcy’s mum and the elegant matriarch of this sun- scorched empire – appears at the door with a smile and two beers in her hands.
‘Here you go, love,’ she says, handing one to Dylan and waving us inside. ‘The boys just knocked off for the day. They’ll be in shortly.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Thornwood,’ Dylan says. ‘You’ve got an incredible place out here.’
He means it. It’s sweet. And tragic.
Dylan, with his conflict-free linen shirt and his alt-lifestyle, sticks out here like a compost bin at a rodeo. Sophia humours him with a polite nod and says, ‘You’re too kind.’
As we make our way through the house, Gloria passes us in a cloud of Chanel and white wine, laughing at something no one else seems to have heard. Ella spots us from the kitchen island. ‘There you are,’ she says from behind the chopping board. ‘Settled in okay?’
I nod, too casually. ‘Cabin three. Feels like old times.’
Ella smirks, slicing cherry tomatoes. Her gaze slides to Dylan. ‘I forgot to mention that the wi-fi is down, so you’ll be out of reception this weekend.’
Dylan smiles. ‘No worries. The only person I speak to regularly is here anyway.’
Ella’s eyes jump between us, adding up the maths and not happy with the answer. ‘So, Dylan, Jamie mentioned you’re working on a start-up?’
I brace.
‘Yep,’ he says. ‘It’s sustainably grown organic hemp milk. High protein, low water usage. We’re in pre-launch but it’s gonna take off.’
Ella nods, expression unreadable. ‘Hemp milk.’
‘Yep,’ he says again, proudly.
I resist the urge to implode. Ella’s too polite to laugh, but even the ceiling fan looks unconvinced. Before I can lie us out of the conversation, Darcy’s father, James, wanders in. He’s weathered and gruff and probably doesn’t understand Spotify, let alone Dylan’s start-up.
‘Musician, eh?’ James says, eyeing Dylan as if trying to figure out his pronouns.
‘Sort of,’ Dylan says with a humble shrug.
James frowns, then slaps a hand on Dylan’s back. ‘C’mon. The men are outside.’
Dylan looks to me and I give him a gentle shove to send him on his way.
As they head outside, I turn to the kitchen – to the noise, the wine, the women who are the heart and soul of most homes.
The ones who plan the meals, wrap the Christmas presents and remember the birthdays.
While the men get to switch off and relax, the women dice tomatoes and shoulder the emotional labour of three generations. Every. Single. Day.
‘Jamie,’ Sophia calls out from where she’s mixing a pot of gravy on the stove, ‘would you lend a hand for a bit?’
Perfect. Nothing says escape like being drafted into kitchen duty. I’m halfway through pretending to know what a reduction is when Gloria corners me with a glass of chardonnay and a raised eyebrow. ‘There’s my favourite misfit.’
‘Hi, Gloria,’ I say, kissing her softly on the cheek.
She doesn’t hug me, just hands me the wine and slides into my space. ‘How are you really?’
‘Peachy,’ I lie.
‘You should come over when we’re back in Sydney. I miss having you girls around – even if Ella’s not there.’
I smile. ‘I’ll stop by soon.’
She takes a sip of wine. ‘You could bring Dylan too.’
‘Maybe.’
‘He seems … nice.’
I snort into my glass. ‘Go on. Say what you’re really thinking. I can take it.’
She looks over her shoulder and then at the gravy I’m now stirring. ‘I always saw you with someone a little more headstrong. Someone less … innocent.’
‘Are you saying I’ve corrupted poor Dylan?’
Gloria presses her lips together as if stifling a smile. ‘You could break that boy’s heart with a look.’
‘Oh.’ I continue stirring. ‘So, you’re saying I need someone with a morally grey past and a suspicious amount of money?’
‘Exactly.’ She grins. ‘You need someone who will challenge you for the right reasons.’
‘I’m sure my mum would argue the opposite is true.’
‘Some people need a Dylan in their lives. Your mother is one of them.’
I laugh, and she leans in to squeeze my shoulder.
‘There’s no rush, you know,’ she says softly. ‘Love tends to sneak up when you least expect it.’
I nod as if there isn’t an invisible expiry date stamped on every woman’s forehead.
As if I don’t know that if I’m single after forty, I’ll be put out to pasture and left to watch men my age date women whose frontal lobes have not fully developed.
And I nod as if I also don’t know the obvious truth that love doesn’t even exist.
Darcy strolls in, cheeks pink from the sun, grabs two beers from the fridge and kisses Ella on the temple before turning to me.
‘Hey, Jamie,’ he says. ‘Met your guy out back. Didn’t know you played piano.’
I freeze for a nanosecond. ‘Oh. Yep,’ I lie. Ella frowns. I power through. ‘Been playing since I was ten.’
Darcy whistles. ‘You’ll have to play something for us later.’
Sophia shoos him out of the kitchen with a dish towel. He vanishes back outside.
Ella eyes me from across the island. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Nothing,’ I say, pouring the liquid into the gravy boat Sophia laid out.
From outside, James calls out that the meat’s ready. We file into the dining room and settle the dishes onto the table – platters of grilled everything, roasted everything else.
I take the middle seat at the long table as the boys walk in. Phil Dunphy hugs me before taking a seat beside Gloria. Dylan comes over and kisses my cheek. ‘This all looks delicious.’
I smile, but my eyes drift past him and land on …
Luke.
He freezes in the doorway. For a second, we stare at each other. Then he masks his expression. A blink, and the wall’s back up. He walks over, the picture of nonchalance, and takes the last remaining seat on my right.
Perfect.
It’s the Last Supper, and I’m Judas the compulsive liar. Ella shifts in the seat across from me and passes the potatoes. My hand shakes as I take them.
Conversation bubbles around us. James and Darcy talk cattle. Luke nods, quiet but present. I overhear Sophia thank him for showing up tonight considering his dad’s not well.
‘I’ll pack some food for him,’ she says. ‘Don’t want him missing a roast.’
Luke ducks his head. ‘Thanks. He’s a big fan of your cooking.’
Sophia blushes.
James mentions feed shortages for the livestock and then Dylan – oh, Dylan – leans forward.
‘Don’t cattle eat what’s on the ground?’
Darcy frowns.
Luke snorts into his beer.
‘No,’ James says, tone flat. ‘Not in a drought they don’t.’
‘Have you considered meat alternatives? Or drought-tolerant crops?’ Dylan suggests. ‘Cows are one of the biggest contributors to gas emissions anyway.’
The table goes quiet, possibly in disbelief. Luke mutters something I don’t catch. My teeth grind.
‘Dylan’s a fantastic guitar player,’ I say, desperate. Ella smiles sadly.
Gloria claps. ‘Oh, you must play something after dinner!’
Dylan ducks his head shyly. ‘Didn’t bring my guitar.’
‘Shame,’ Luke mutters.
I kick him under the table.
Ella perks up. ‘There’s one in the spare room. Probably needs tuning, though.’
‘You should play,’ Sophia encourages him, quite possibly thrilled to have a distraction from an impending dinner brawl. ‘Jamie can join you on piano.’
I choke on a mouthful of potato. ‘Sorry – what?’
Dylan beams. ‘That would be great. I’ve never heard you play.’
I swallow the urge to launch myself out the window. ‘Sure.
Sounds great.’
Phil looks impressed. ‘I didn’t know you were a pianist.’
Ella smiles tightly. ‘Jamie’s full of surprises.’
I keep my eyes down for the rest of the meal.
After dinner, Sophia brings out the dessert and Ella the guitar. Dylan strums a few mellow chords. It’s nice. Soft. Intimate.
Too intimate.
Then he looks at me. ‘What do you say, babe? Wanna take it to the piano?’
I smile – and lie. ‘Not feeling too well, actually.’
‘Oh. You sure? I’d love to hear you play.’
‘Another time,’ I say, reaching for the cheesecake, then quickly stopping myself to maintain the lie. ‘Stomach’s a bit off.’
That’s when Gloria laughs and says, ‘Hope you’re not pregnant.’
Darcy takes a sip of beer and raises his eyebrows. ‘Again?’
Ella smacks him.
My unused spoon crashes against the plate.
The table freezes.
Dylan looks at me, confused. ‘Wait … are you pregnant?’
‘Again?’ Luke asks quietly. Too quietly.
I shoot to my feet. ‘Excuse me.’
I bolt. I’m halfway across the yard before I breathe again.
The air out here is cooler, calmer. Finally, I can hear myself think – which turns out to be a mixed blessing.
I pass the cabins, cut through a slice of scrubby grass and keep going until I hit the fence line, then stop.
The two horses stand still in the night, heads slightly raised as if waiting for some drama. Lucky them.
‘Jamie!’ Ella calls behind me.
I keep walking, following the fence line.
‘Jamie, stop, dammit. My pregnant arse can’t walk that fast.’
She catches up, slightly winded, leaning on the wooden rail that separates us from the open paddock. Her belly pushes forward as she exhales and shoots me the kind of look you only get from someone who loves you and remembers your MSN handle.
We’re both quiet for a moment. A horse lumbers over and gently nudges Ella’s hand with its nose. She strokes its forehead and doesn’t say anything. Just leans in, breathing. Letting me unravel at my own pace.
‘I didn’t mean for any of this to happen,’ I say eventually, staring out at the dark. ‘I thought I could fake my way through. I didn’t think it would matter.’
‘You didn’t think it would matter to who?’ she asks.
‘To anyone,’ I mutter. ‘To you. To Dylan. To … You know, a warning about Luke being at dinner would’ve been nice.’
She lifts an eyebrow. ‘I did warn you.’
‘No, you said it was a family dinner.’
‘Luke is family,’ she says, then nudges me with her elbow. ‘The same way you are.’
That gets me, in the soft spot between my ribs. My smile is small and bent and half sad. ‘How’s Dylan?’ I ask, not sure I want to know.
Ella exhales through her nose. ‘Lost. A bit confused. You’ve got some explaining to do, to both of them.’
‘Think I’d rather sleep out here with the horses.’
‘And snakes,’ Ella adds.
I tilt my head. ‘Still seems like a better option.’
She’s quiet for a moment, then says, ‘When I moved out here for my gap year, I cried every day.’
‘I remember,’ I say, smiling fondly at the memory.
She nods. ‘Called you guys constantly. Spent every night googling flights back. My whole body was screaming at me to go home. That life was easier back there. That I could fix it all by … not trying. But you know what stopped me?’
‘Great sex?’
‘No.’ Ella swats my arm. ‘What kept me here was knowing that if I went home, nothing would change. I wouldn’t change.’
I raise an eyebrow. ‘Not sure where this pep talk is going.’
She turns to face me fully. ‘If you stay the same, nothing happens.
The world won’t find you if you remain boxed up in that apartment of yours. You have to step into it. You have to look up from your screen, Jamie. There’s so much waiting for you – but you’re too busy hiding.’
I shake my head. ‘I’ve seen it. And it ain’t pretty.’
Ella gives me a small, sad smile. ‘You haven’t seen anything. You’ve seen the world through the eyes of your family and assumed that was it.’
I sigh. ‘Sorry for ruining your family dinner.’
Ella wraps an arm around my shoulders and leans her head lightly against mine. ‘If you’re going to base your future off your family’s track record,’ she says, ‘then at least include us in that picture.’
I don’t respond. Maybe I decided years ago that being known wasn’t worth the cost of being hurt.
Ella doesn’t tell me it’s going to be okay. After a pause, she says, ‘I miss the Jamie who cried in English class because Piggy didn’t deserve to die in Lord of the Flies. And the Jamie who argued with Mrs Wilson because you didn’t think margins in your notebook were necessary.’
‘They weren’t.’
‘You made a PowerPoint.’
My lips can’t help but tilt up at the memory. That was a different Jamie. One who felt things deeply. Loudly. Honestly.
‘What happened to her?’ Ella asks.
I stare at the horse still nudging the fencepost. ‘She grew up.’
Ella gives me a gentle squeeze. A breeze flutters past, carrying the scent of dry grass and lemon myrtle. Somewhere in the house, someone starts playing guitar.
Ella straightens. ‘Okay. My bladder’s about to burst. You coming back in?’
I shake my head. ‘Think I might call it a night.’
‘Alright. I’ll see you in the morning.’
‘Night.’
‘Jamie?’
I turn my head.
‘I love you.’
I smile and squeeze her hand. ‘I love you too.’
She disappears back towards the house.
I stay right where I am. In the silence. In the dark. In the quiet space between who I am and who I pretend to be.