Chapter 8
DAINTY
FOUR YEARS EARLIER
If Nev didn’t go, Reg would harass her about it later, so she made an appearance at the party.
He did that for Ron’s birthday every December, invited all his relatives, friends, and coworkers from the fire station.
Two matching gold foil balloons tied to the front veranda.
Ron was still only twenty-two, the age Nev had been when she graduated school, moved to full-time war photography and effectively became an adult.
Ron didn’t have graduation ceremonies, so it was less clear when she was supposed to grow up. Maybe her family would coddle her and keep her eternally young, free of responsibilities. Nev caught herself. That thought wasn’t fair. Rainbow was a responsibility. Could have been. Should have been.
Behind the purple Madonna house hid a tropical North Queensland paradise—a large pool, several shopbuildings, sheds full of off-road vehicles, a vegetable patch, archery targets, charred fire pit, a badminton net, and a playground, none of it visible from the road.
She found Reg at the barbeque flipping bratwurst and burgers.
His face lit up when he saw her. “How ya goin’?
” He tapped his half-empty stubby of Carlton Mid against her full one.
Behind him, Ron and her cousins played touch rugby on the lawn.
Judging by the misty look in his eyes, this wasn’t his first stubby.
“Blaise is a Christian. It’s her deal. Have to respect the wife’s deal.
Never question another man’s religion, politics, or sports club, right?
Anyway. I never understood the Prodigal Son story. ”
Be nice, Nev warned herself. He’s a sentimental drunk.
He flipped a row of prawns on the top rack with his tongs. “You’re lucky you don’t have kids.”
She took back every good thing she had thought about him.
He peered downish at her.
It was her turn to say something. You’re an arsehole. Why did Blaise marry you again? “Christ, Reg. Don’t ever tell someone that, you insensitive bastard.”
He wasn’t listening. “Thanks for taking a chance on her. It means the world to me. She’s my world.”
“Don’t mention it. She’s a good worker.” Her irritation faded when she looked over at the lawn and saw Ron sprinting with a rugby ball, chased and tackled to the ground, laughing hard.
“She wants to be like you when she grows up.”
Bloody hell... Cue the panic. “You’re kidding.”
Reg laughed. “She looks up to you. You’re her role model.”
“Bullshit. I know for a fact you are.” Nev was no good at this conversation.
Is this how he talked to his mates? Was this him including her in normal male bonding around the barbie?
Maybe all the Madonnas were over-sharers?
Was he buttering her up for bad news? Or was it a warning to be more careful?
The following morning, Nev sat at her desk as Ron leaned across her to see the new STAFF shirts on the computer screen. Ron sipped a Fanta. “What about that long-sleeve neon yellow one that says quick-dry?”
“It would turn brown immediately. We haven’t had dark shirts in a few years. How about brown?”
“A light color would be cooler.”
“Got it, boss.” Nev clicked on the shirts Ron wanted. “Still a large?” The tag of the shirt Ron was wearing said XL. Nev sat down again, ordered three for each employee. “Your dainties are showing.”
“My what?”
“Is that the style these days? Pants sticking out of shorts?”
“Bugger off. What’s a Dain’y?”
“Daintys? Underdaks? Underpants?”
Ron laughed. “No one says dainties, mate. That’s like two hundred years old.”
“My exact biological age.”
Something rested on top of her head. Nev froze in her desk chair. It took her a minute to figure out that it was Ron’s chin. Nev patted one of the hairy forearms wrapping her in a hug.
“Go on, scram.”
Ron left whistling, taking her fanta with her. Affection was a youthful affectation, a form of benign manipulation indicative of innocence or its opposite. Nev knew better than to be flattered by attention. If anyone caught her holding her cheeks she would be mortified.
It wasn’t that Ron was a flirt—Ron didn’t know she was boundary pushing, checking for moral weakness. If Nev did anything unprofessional, Ron wouldn’t be safe. To feel safe, Ron needed proof that her boss’ self-control was rock solid one hundred percent of the time.
Nev needed to be super-human.
If she admitted she didn’t feel the age difference, friends would misunderstand. That was the oddest thing, feeling no superiority over this one, having to constantly stop herself from asking Ron for advice on how to do things.
Sometimes when the two of them were out fixing fences or baling hay, she forgot her dad was dead, forgot she was the boss now. It was an easy mistake. Ron was easy to look up to.
Nev had to be careful not to let her guard down.
It was safe to want something she couldn’t have. She hoped it wasn’t a Freudian thing, although with her luck this professional relationship would end up having wholesome mother-daughter undertones.
The worst part about feeling young again was catching a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror and being surprised by the crow’s feet in the corners of her eyes and the grey at her temples. So many wasted years... What had she accomplished since she was twenty-two? Nothing.
The problem with thinking too much was that it caused her to do too little. She couldn’t let that happen again.
Someone had to protect Ron.