CHAPTER 21
As Poppy emerged onto her verandah wearing a red wrap dress printed with tiny white daisies, James looked up from where he sat on the front step. ‘You look nice.’
‘Oh …’ Poppy wasn’t sure how to respond. ‘Nice’ was the blandest compliment you could get; she tried not to feel so happy about receiving it.
James was freshly showered, his still-wet hair glistening. The collar of his navy polo stuck up as though he’d dressed in a hurry.
‘Let me get that,’ he said, standing up to grab the pram and carry it down the three stairs. As he flicked on the pram brakes, he remarked in surprise, ‘It’s heavy, isn’t it? You should be careful carrying it around.’
Poppy came to a halt at the top of the stairs. ‘Sure, I’ll get my monkey butler to carry it for me.’
James moved to the foot of the steps. ‘You know that’s not how I meant it. I just don’t want you to hurt yourself.’
Poppy crossed her arms. ‘Regardless, you still sound exceptionally patronising.’
James’s mouth quirked upwards. ‘I heard exceptional?’
Poppy rolled her eyes.
‘Kidding!’ He smiled, stepping onto the lowest stair, his eyes now level with hers. ‘I promise my intentions were honourable.’
‘And yet again, you sound like a tool.’ She shrugged. ‘You’re really bad at reading the room.’
He came a step closer, his mouth tilting. ‘I’m only bad at reading you.’
His hands reached up to rest on the handrails that framed either side of her hips and as his smile inched higher without breaking her gaze, Poppy was abruptly aware of the sun’s warmth on her bare arms. It felt like the heat was swirling across her skin like smoke across water. In fact, it was too hot. She needed more SPF. She needed to cover up. She needed to move but she couldn’t because his eyes . From this angle she could see they were scattered with tiny flecks of hazel, like hidden seams of gold. There was an ominous fight-or-flight sensation tingling up her spine. She needed to look away. Now.
‘I’ll grab the nappy bag,’ she said, too loudly.
The screen door squeaked behind her as she pulled the bag from the couch, grabbed the champagne from the fridge and, after a moment’s pause, twisted the tap at the sink. She put her fingers underneath the clear, cool water then dabbed at her temples, feeling her pulse slowly subside. She was being ridiculous. They were just two people. Who had eyes. Having lunch. With his whole family. No big deal.
When she stepped outside, James was peering into the pram making faces at Maeve. ‘I’m trying to make her laugh,’ he explained. ‘But she’s a stone-cold ice maiden.’
‘Like her mum?’ said Poppy.
On cue, Maeve giggled.
‘Oh, that’s how it is, is it?’ said James to Maeve. ‘Only laughing at Mum’s jokes?’
Poppy smiled at her daughter, glad for the comic relief. ‘As my daughter, she’s genetically predisposed to some serious ice maiden energy.’
‘Whatever you reckon,’ said James, taking the nappy bag from her and looping it over his shoulder. ‘You’re sweet as pie.’
Poppy’s eyes jerked sideways. This guy . He said things that were So. Hard. To. Read. ‘Let’s go,’ she said and began pushing the pram up the hill, steadfastly ignoring the prickle of heat across her clavicles. That would be the beginning of the sunburn. And what was ‘sweet as pie’ supposed to mean anyway? Was it some kind of weird backhanded compliment? Was he patronising her? Again? That would be so like him.
Unless—a thought snagged like driftwood in the babbling current of her brain—maybe he was being friendly and she was overthinking it. Maybe he’d been making a passing comment fuelled by that no-filter honesty and self-assurance that seemed to emanate from his broad shoulders. He thought she was ‘sweet’—however he defined that—ergo he’d said so. Case closed. Nothing more to see here, people. She needed to get a grip. It was unhealthy to analyse human behaviour to this extent; she’d give herself an aneurysm.
They arrived at a cabin surrounded by utes and SUVs. Somewhere in the background a Bluetooth speaker was pumping Cat Stevens. Kids were running up and down the verandah stairs and there was the unmistakable sound of beer bottles clinking.
‘James!’ cried a woman in a Camilla-esque caftan. She was holding a tray of smoked salmon blinis. ‘I’ve been looking for you everywhere.’
‘Mum, I was gone for two seconds. How did you even notice? I already moved the eskies around the front and plaited Maisie’s hair, like you asked. I even sorted out Uncle Pete for beers. I went to get Poppy, like I told you. I couldn’t have her turn up at the lion’s den alone.’ He looked at Poppy. ‘Oh yeah—Poppy, this is my mum, Donna. Mum, this is Poppy.’
Poppy held out the chilled bottle of champagne that was sweating in her hands. ‘This is for you.’
‘You shouldn’t have!’ said James’s mother, happily lying. ‘We’ll have a special glass of that later. James, put it in there.’ She nodded towards the nearest esky, which was covered in Bundaberg Rum stickers. ‘Don’t let me forget that’s where I put it. I’m not having those pesky teenagers sneaking our special drinks. It’s so nice to meet you, Poppy,’ she said, turning to look at Poppy with the same dark eyes as her son. ‘You’re the one living next to Mum, aren’t you? She raves about you, so it’s lovely you can join us here. Feels like you’re part of the family already!’ She smiled warmly and squeezed Poppy’s arm; Poppy felt a rush of gratitude. ‘I’d love to stay and chat but I promised Norma I’d take these blinis straight to her. She gets so antsy about the canapés. Then I’ve got to sort the potatoes and, oh gosh…’ She walked off, the caftan billowing behind her.
‘She’s not normally so flustered,’ James remarked.
‘She’s lovely,’ said Poppy. She meant it too.
Within seconds they were surrounded by people clapping James on the shoulder, hugging him and wishing him a Merry Easter. (Was that a thing?) Drinks were offered by friendly uncles and aunts, and Poppy laughed shyly at the chaos, clutching the pram in one hand and a half-glass of champagne in the other. Compared to her own family, this was an army.
‘Jimmy!’ cried a woman, emerging from behind a swarm of children. She had long, dark blonde hair and legs up to the sky. ‘We just arrived! Where have you been?’ She punched his arm playfully.
‘Ow!’ cried James, rubbing his arm. ‘Poppy, this is my sister, Kate. Kate, this is Poppy, Mary’s next-door neighbour.’
‘I’ve heard so much about you,’ said Kate as she drew Poppy in for a hug. She pulled away and looked Poppy up and down. A sly grin crept onto her face. ‘I can see why—’
‘Kate!’ yelled a voice in the distance. ‘I need your help with this cheese plate now !’
Kate grinned. ‘I’d better go. Don’t hog Poppy to yourself, Jimmy boy. I can tell she’s out of your league.’ She winked and disappeared around the back of the cabin.
James ran a hand through his hair. ‘She’s so weird. Sorry about that.’
Poppy chuckled. ‘I’m just loving the “Jimmy” revelation. Can’t wait to bust that one out.’
‘You wouldn’t dare. Now let’s go check out the set-up.’ James put his hand on the small of her back, steering her towards the backyard, and Poppy’s abdomen tightened at his touch. Her lower back suddenly felt glazed with sweat. She prayed he couldn’t tell.
‘Always so over the top,’ groaned James, as they rounded the corner. The grass behind the cabin was still crisp from summer. A towering scribbly gum cast a welcome shade and lines of trestle tables covered in white tablecloths were decorated with garlands of gum leaves, foil-covered chocolate eggs nestled among them. James plucked an egg from the garland and began peeling off the foil.
‘Hey, don’t eat the decorations!’ Poppy tried to shove him but James effortlessly dodged her swipe and poked her in return.
‘I cannot be blamed for eating Easter eggs on Easter Sunday,’ he said. ‘They shouldn’t have made edible decorations if they didn’t want them eaten.’ He popped the entire chocolate egg in his mouth and grinned.
As more family members arrived, James was swept away in more hugs and to-do lists. Poppy tugged the rug from the nappy bag and unfolded it under the gum tree. Bodies moved in all directions. Children were running across the grass and adults were marching through the cabin like ants. Some kids threw her curious glances. To most of them, she was invisible.
A bevy of teenage girls—cousins, she presumed—drifted over, delighted to find a baby in their midst. ‘Can we babysit?’ asked one, a curly-haired girl who couldn’t have been more than fifteen.
‘Oh, that’s very generous …’ Poppy began. She’d only ever left Maeve for an hour or two with her mum, and even on those rare occasions it had been heart-wrenching.
‘I babysit all the time,’ said the girl, waving at the crowd as if to indicate she’d raised this lot.
‘Harper is great with babies,’ said Kate as she walked past with a cheese platter. ‘She basically parented the twins by herself, but don’t hold that against her.’
‘Oh, um …’ Poppy glanced around uncertainly.
Kate called over her shoulder, ‘You can trust her.’
The girls were already sitting on the blanket and pulling toys from the nappy bag. ‘Um, er, okay,’ Poppy heard herself say. She stood up and took a tentative step to the left. The teenage girls had already forgotten she was there. So had Maeve apparently; she was transfixed by the gum leaves overhead. Poppy swallowed and assessed the situation. There were adults everywhere and it was a relatively small place. If Maeve screamed she would hear it immediately. She was going to be cool about this. She would not make a scene.
‘Dying of hunger!’ Kate laughed.
Poppy’s head spun around. ‘Who? Maeve?!’
‘No, the boys,’ said Kate, gliding back with a massacred cheese plate. ‘Cooper tried to take the whole wheel of cheese for himself. Reckons he’s bulking and needs the protein. He’s twelve !’
Poppy giggled. Under the tree, her daughter’s eyes were closing, as though hypnotised by the dappled light.
‘I think I’ll put her to sleep in the pram,’ announced Harper.
‘Oh.’ Poppy had been about to suggest the same thing. ‘Sounds good, thanks.’
‘The kid’s maternal instincts are strong,’ said Kate approvingly, turning back to the cabin.
Poppy smiled cautiously. ‘Let me help you,’ she said, falling into step with her. ‘I need a job.’
As they entered the kitchen, Kate raised her voice. ‘Everyone, this is Poppy. She’s the one staying in Mary’s cabin.’
The room was heaving with people, and they all turned around, curious. Some of them waved, most of them smiled, and a few aunts bundled her up in a flurry of bosom-y hugs. Plates and glasses covered every surface and the air was humid from the roasting oven and the mass of bodies. Poppy surreptitiously lifted her arms to minimise underarm sweat.
‘Are you sure we’re ready to put the salads out?’ cried one of the aunts, as Kate picked up a giant bowl. ‘We’ve barely finished the appetisers.’
‘Norma, unless we start filling those boys up with something vaguely healthy, they’re going to gorge themselves on chocolate and be more hyperactive than usual. I’ll let you deal with that, if you want?’ Kate didn’t wait for a response; she just strode out with the couscous salad, as poised as ever.
Poppy was handed a wide bowl of cauliflower and pomegranate salad which was surprisingly heavy and awkward to hold. She turned and began walking to the verandah, dodging the kids who were racing around her feet. She tried to shift the weight of the bowl more evenly across her arms. The bowl was bigger than her torso and seemed to be made from a surprisingly dense form of ceramic. She could feel her sweaty hands slipping slightly. Oh god , she thought, please don’t let me drop this. Please, please, please .
It was too late. The bowl was definitely slipping. Irrationally, she rushed towards the screen door, hoping to sandwich the bowl between her body and the flyscreen to keep it from falling. Fuck , the salad looked delicious too. This was going to be a travesty.
‘Hey,’ said James, suddenly appearing in the doorframe, easily steadying the bowl with one hand. ( Arrogant .) ‘What’s going on here?’
‘I’m taking the salad outside,’ Poppy huffed. ‘Obviously.’
‘Were you trying to hammer throw it out there?’
‘No, I just … my hands … it was quite sweaty.’ She suddenly remembered the threat of armpit sweat and raised her arms away from her body. She was now holding the bowl like someone would hold motorbike handles—totally cool.
‘What are you doing?’ asked James, his gaze locked on hers.
‘Nothing.’
‘You’re being a bit weird.’
‘No, I’m not.’
‘True—you’re often like this.’
Poppy narrowed her eyes. ‘Can you give me a hand or what?’
James smiled, taking the bowl from her. ‘It would be my pleasure.’
Poppy followed him to the tables, where he set the salad down and surveyed the chairs that were slowly filling up.
‘Let’s sit over here,’ he said, walking towards Kate. ‘The key is not to get stuck on the kids’ table or they’ll make you tell jokes all day and try to pull down your pants.’ He glanced at her dress. ‘Well, maybe not you, but you get my drift. You don’t want the drunken aunts and uncles, either; they’ll try to bait you about all this woke Gen Y stuff. And you don’t want to be sitting with the teenagers, because the boys use too much Rexona and it can put you off your food. And then …’
Poppy let his commentary wash over her, enjoying how he connected the dots in a busy, colourful mosaic. Within ten minutes, she had a plate heaped with turkey, ham, green beans with slivered almonds and lemony baby potatoes, there were plump slices of tomato with shreds of basil and silken burrata. There wasn’t even room for the cauliflower and pomegranate salad. The cotton of the white tablecloths brushed her legs as she sat down next to James and another half-glass of champagne materialised from a friendly uncle. Maeve was still snoozing in the shade. Poppy suddenly wished everyone would pick up their forks. She was starving.
‘Ahem.’ The friendly uncle cleared his throat. He had James’s jawline and shoulders, giving him the appearance of a retired tennis player. The man tried again and clinked a fork against his beer. ‘Hey, shut up, you lot!’
The table fell silent. He cleared his throat again. ‘I want to say thank you to everyone who helped prepare this feast for us.’
‘You could have helped!’ piped up James’s mum, and the others roared with laughter.
The man grinned sheepishly. ‘Thanks, Donna-tron, but no-one wants food poisoning at Easter, especially with the septic tank situation out here. I’ll shut up soon, I just wanted to say how special it is to have you all here this weekend—even you, Cooper.’ His laser eyes homed in on Kate’s son, who immediately stopped flicking peas at his twin brother. ‘I know Mary is so sad to be missing this, but nothing makes her happier than knowing how much we all enjoy each other’s company.’
‘Speak for yourself!’ yelled an uncle from the back, and another wave of laughter erupted.
‘Alright, alright, that’s enough from you, Barry! I can see you’re not enjoying this at all.’ He pointed to Barry’s overflowing plate. ‘Well, let’s all dig in and be thankful for having such a motley crew of a family. Cheers!’
The table raised their glasses and a hearty ‘cheers’ rang out across the valley.
James’s siblings and their partners were all warm and friendly, with the athletic frames that Poppy was starting to associate with this tribe. It was like a Noah’s ark of Olympians: Kate and Dereck, Michael and Maggie, Dave and Trudy. Poppy ate slowly, squeezing in mouthfuls between answering questions. They wanted to know about Maeve, her job, where she lived, why she’d left Sydney. Poppy hadn’t spoken about herself in so long, it amused her to think how neatly she could summarise her life for strangers: Maeve was sleeping okay, she’d worked in marketing, she lived in Orange now, she’d left Sydney to raise her daughter.
When James’s youngest brother, Michael, asked how she’d become friends with James, Poppy realised she had no idea. Forty-eight hours ago she wouldn’t even have said they were friends, but they’d just spent a whole day together, their conversation floating from funny to sad to serious to stupid.
James bumped her knee under the table and caught her eye. Poppy bumped his back with a playful smirk. She hadn’t realised their legs were so close, and now, wow, yep, his thigh was touching hers. Did he realise? Poppy tried to surreptitiously inch her leg away, ignoring the fact that all the heat in her body now seemed to be redirecting to her left knee.
‘I helped deliver Maeve,’ James said.
‘No way!’ cried Kate. Her expression twisted from wonder to shock to alarm. ‘How … was that?’
Poppy tried not to wince and wrenched her knee cleanly to the right. ‘No comment,’ she replied, grimacing.
‘Wait, wait, wait!’ interrupted Michael, turning to James. ‘You mean you pulled the baby out? You were at the business end ?!’ His eyes were wide with horror.
‘Not quite,’ said James. ‘But I will say …’
Kate threw a scrunched-up serviette at him. ‘Patient confidentiality, Jimmy boy!’
James threw up his hands in surrender. ‘Poppy was a star, that’s all I’ll say. But yes, it is quite funny that we’re friends now.’
Poppy’s ears were burning suddenly. The casual compliments from James were starting to accumulate like weights in her chest. She didn’t know what to do with them. Ignore them? Assume he was like this with everyone? Was she so emotionally stunted after nine years with Patrick that she’d forgotten guys could be friendly, no strings attached?
‘Even if you had been swearing like a truck driver there would have been no judgement from me,’ said Kate, and her sisters-in-law nodded vigorously. ‘These men have no idea what we go through.’
Michael piped up, ‘I dunno, sis. Maggie almost tore my hand off she was gripping me so hard and her fingernails were sharp . It was pretty intense for me too.’
Kate and Maggie looked at each other meaningfully before walloping him over the head in unison. The rest of the table laughed.
‘Well, Poppy, since you had to go through childbirth with James, I think it’s only fair we share some of his embarrassing stories,’ declared Kate.
‘Where do we start?’ quipped Mike.
‘He was obsessed with Adam Gilchrist,’ supplied Dave.
‘Ah yes!’ cried Kate. ‘The cricket phase!’
‘And remember his side fringe?!’
‘The emo phase!’
‘And when he’d play Blink 182 at the cricket nets!?’
‘The emo cricket phase!’
The barbs volleyed across the table as James looked on in mock horror. When Michael began telling a story about an ex-girlfriend, James finally interrupted. ‘That’s enough,’ he said, laughing. ‘A man needs to maintain an air of mystery.’
It was like Poppy had snuck into a secret society of coded in-jokes and they were delighted to have a new audience. Among themselves they argued about who ate the most, who whinged the most, who was funniest, who was smartest, who was their mum’s favourite, who was Mary’s favourite. Everything was a competition with stakes that were tiny but hilarious and they laughed till they cried as they fervently tried to one-up each other.
It wasn’t long before trays of cakes and slices appeared on the table and Kate declared the kids were allowed to eat the rest of the decorations. Lunch had flown. There had been so many jokes to keep up with and stories to file away for later, Poppy had barely had time to chew. She’d just finished her second piece of Mars Bar slice and was packing her stuff to walk back to her cabin when Kate appeared beside her.
‘You coming later?’ she asked, as Poppy shoved the picnic rug into the pram undercarriage.
Poppy stood up and brushed her hair back. ‘Later?’
‘All us young ones—and I use that term very generously—head down to the dam at sunset. It’s a tradition. Didn’t James tell you?’
Poppy glanced over Kate’s shoulder to where James stood chatting to some of the aunts. She felt a stab of … something. Why hadn’t he mentioned it? Two days ago she wouldn’t have expected anything from him. After today … well, he’d had plenty of chances to bring it up.
‘Maybe he doesn’t want me there.’ She tried to say it jokingly but it came out stilted. ‘I couldn’t come anyway,’ she said. ‘I can’t leave Maeve.’
‘Of course he wants you to come!’
‘What’s this?’ asked James, strolling over.
‘I was telling Poppy she has to come to the dam for sunset. Harper can babysit Maeve.’
‘Yeah, sure,’ said James, waving the flies off his sister’s shoulder. Was Poppy imagining it, or did he look uncomfortable?
‘No, really, I don’t want to intrude. I’ve imposed enough already.’
‘No way, you should come!’ cried Kate. ‘It’s very chill. Just drinks and music. The chat gets very funny once the rum comes out.’
James sniggered. ‘I don’t know if you’re selling it that well, sis. Poppy might not want to see that side of us.’
‘Honestly, I’m fine. It’s your special family time.’
‘You’re coming,’ said Kate firmly. ‘Jimmy, you can walk Harper over later and pick up Poppy. Bring a jumper,’ she said to Poppy. ‘It gets cold.’
James shrugged as if to say ‘decision made’. His expression was as unreadable as ever.
Poppy pushed the pram back down the road. A flock of galahs swooped across the valley like rose-tinted gossamer in the breeze. If James didn’t want her there, she didn’t want to go. But then, Kate had invited her, and she liked Kate.
She didn’t know what to do. She didn’t want to seem clingy, but if they were friends (were they?) he wouldn’t think that, would he?
The dam was now dotted with boats. The distant whirring of motors purred on the breeze and gum leaves rustled above her. Did everyone find the real world this tricky? She wondered. Before she’d had Maeve, she’d been insulated by corporate life, where there were clear standards of behaviour and you could trace your course of action on a neat decision tree. If yes, do this; if no, do that. Even at school, everyone had been institutionalised enough to decipher wrong from right and weird from cool, but out here, in the real world, every line was so fuzzy. People could be vague and chatty and bump your knee, and it was up to you whether you read into that or not.
Poppy asked herself again, more sternly this time: Should I go to the dam? Despite using her most intimidating internal voice, she still had no idea.