CHAPTER 18
The cabin’s corrugated-iron walls were painted pale yellow and the tin roof was a weathered green. A stack of cobwebbed plastic chairs sat on the verandah with a crusty welcome mat at the door. There was not a breath of wind and the water shimmered at the base of the valley like a mirror of the sky. Poppy heaved her luggage up the stairs, grimacing in the unseasonal heat.
Mary had given her the keys to the cabin along with two Tupperware containers of lemon slice and jam drops. The jam drops were for Poppy and the lemon slice was for Mary’s family, who would be staying in the cabins nearby. Her instructions to Poppy were simple: watch out for snakes and relaxez-vous .
Inside the cabin, a scratchy canvas couch faced a small television with a mustard-coloured kitchen in the rear. In the bedroom, the sateen mustard bedspread threw sepia-toned light like an Instagram filter. If you shimmied the bedside table into the corner and pushed the bed frame against the opposite wall, a portacot could fit in the gap. Maeve was already making good use of it, exhausted from her first long drive. The cabin was kind of beautiful in a nostalgic, seventies kind of way. Poppy opened the kitchen windows and breathed deeply. It smelled of eucalypt and dust and … yoghurt?
She opened the esky and groaned. Her half-litre tub of Chobani had split at the base and a goopy white paste covered everything inside: the figs, the strawberries, the tomatoes, the cheese, the bread rolls. Everything was ruined. The lone champagne bottle was so covered in yoghurt it looked like milk, but at least it could be rinsed off. She turned on the kitchen tap, which made a guttural choking sound. Brownish water spurted out, ricocheting off the sink and sending brown splotches all over her white linen shirt. Poppy swore and tucked her shirt under her bra so the water now spattered her bare stomach. She waited until the water ran clear then began washing the fruit under the tap. The cheese and bread which had been wrapped in paper bags were already starting to sour. At this rate, she’d be on a fruitarian diet for Easter.
‘Hello-ooo?’
Poppy jumped at the sound and spun around.
What the hell?!
James’s tall frame filled the doorway. ‘Hi,’ he said, the corners of his mouth twitching as he glanced at her stomach.
‘Oh shit.’ Poppy pulled down her top. ‘I was just …’ She gestured to the sink and the fruit. He would have no idea what she meant. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I’m here to get the slice.’ He pointed at the Tupperware on the bench. ‘Mary said you’d bring it.’
‘Mary? What?’ Ohhhhhhh . ‘Mary is your grandma ?’
‘Yep.’
‘But why do you call her Mary?’
James shrugged. ‘She hates being called Grandma. Makes her feel too old.’
Poppy’s mind drifted back to James’s ute in her street. ‘That … explains a lot.’
‘I thought she would have told you.’
Poppy shook her head, her sluggish brain struggling to keep up. ‘I guess that means you and the bikini model …?’
James creased his forehead. ‘Who?’
‘Oh, er, I thought you and our neighbour were … um, you know.’ She pulled at her shirt to make doubly sure it wasn’t still tucked into her bra.
‘Oh!’ James sounded shocked. ‘No, no, not at all. Happily single, I am.’ He coughed and glanced at her quickly. ‘Sorry, weird thing to say.’
Poppy’s brow tensed slightly. Was that embarrassment she’d witnessed? From the robot? She turned to the lemon slice. ‘You’re lucky your grandma is such a great baker,’ she said, handing over the container.
‘I know.’ James nodded. ‘We don’t need it at all—we’ve got mountains of food—but it wouldn’t be Easter without Mary’s slice.’
Poppy glanced at her own measly pile of soggy food on the bench. ‘I bet.’
James tilted his head towards the wet baguette poking out of the esky. ‘What happened there?’
‘Yoghurt explosion.’
‘Right.’
‘I may be on a liquid diet this Easter.’
James glanced between her and the food. ‘I guess, er, you could join us? For Easter lunch tomorrow?’ He hesitated. ‘Only if you want to, of course.’ He held up the Tupperware container. ‘We’ll have slice.’
‘Oh.’ Poppy felt her cheeks redden. ‘I wasn’t angling for an invite.’ Her conversations with this man always seemed to veer off course. It was his damn eyes. They were so distracting.
‘Not at all. It would be my—I mean, our pleasure.’
Poppy grimaced. There was no way out from all this politeness. She was trapped. ‘Oh, um, okay then,’ she stammered. ‘Thank you, um … James.’ His name sounded so formal on her tongue.
‘Right.’ He nodded as if concluding a business meeting. ‘I’ll pop by tomorrow morning and let you know the plans. You would think lunch would be at lunchtime, but you can never be sure when my family is concerned, so it pays to check. I guess, I’ll … I’ll see you soon.’
He turned and walked down the stairs. Poppy squinted into the sunlight, watching him go. In the distance, a kookaburra laughed until its cackle was absorbed into the hot, dry air. She turned back to the kitchen and leaned her elbows on the bench then dropped her head into her hands. The Tupperware of jam drops sat next to her, as duplicitous as a poisoned chalice. Poppy straightened up and rubbed her eyes. Mary had a lot of explaining to do.