Special Delivery

CHAPTER 46

Poppy swatted uselessly at a blowfly that was buzzing angrily at her windscreen. The windows were all open in an attempt to suction it out, but the bastard was too dumb to notice. The buzzing sound was becoming exponentially more frustrating with every second. Maeve was crying in the car seat as the hot air outside pummelled her face but the stupid fly was determinedly not flying out. Groaning, Poppy lunged at it as she slowed for the roundabout. The fly, as if in response, lazily swerved left and landed on her dash.

Maeve wailed again, increasing her volume this time, so Poppy reluctantly pressed the windows-up button. The fly had won this round, but the joke was on it; she’d trapped it now, so it better think twice if it thought it was getting out alive.

Maeve’s cry declined to an irritating grumble. It was a shudderingly hot day, and the fabric of the seatbelt was sticky against her skin. The streets were empty, the black tar reflecting the heat back onto the few cars that were bothering to go anywhere on the scorching public holiday.

Her mother, who’d called her this morning to wish her a Happy New Year, had no idea why she was so determined to build this sandpit.

‘It’s going to reach thirty-eight degrees, darling. Karl Stefanovic said it was the hottest start to the year in a thousand years. Or maybe it was a hundred? Actually, it could have been a million. It was something like that. If you ask me, I think you’d be better off putting on the sprinkler.’

‘Mum, there are water restrictions. I can’t.’

‘I know, darling, I wasn’t suggesting you break the law, but I thought if you just did it quickly—just for Maeve—no-one would really mind.’

‘It’s fine, Mum. I need a project.’

‘I know, darling, but do you need to do it today? It’s not as though there’s any deadline.’

Poppy couldn’t explain it but there was a deadline. She’d made the decision to build it today and now she needed to execute the plan. If she didn’t, she feared that would imply something significant. She wanted to be a woman—a mother—who kicked goals and got shit done. As her dad had said, she was setting the tone for the year. For some reason, this sandpit had become emblematic of so much more than a box of imported sand.

‘Mum, it’s totally fine. After being pregnant last summer, I can hardly feel the heat this time around, and this is the first New Year’s Day in about fifteen years that I haven’t been hungover … or pregnant. I need to capitalise on my good health.’

‘ Bon santé , then,’ said her mother. ‘And before I forget, I just found out Better Homes and Gardens is filming me two weeks from Friday. I got a last-minute hair appointment on the Thursday, which is outrageously lucky. I’m going to hit the sales tomorrow to find an outfit, if you want to join? Rockmans has some lovely colours at the mo—’

‘Wait, what? Why are you going to be on Better Homes and Gardens ?’

‘Didn’t I tell you, darling? Martha’s garden has been selected for one of those whizz-bang garden features! The ones where Johanna Griggs and that Graham fellow walk around and tell jokes while they look at the flowerbeds. Their angle is “the neighbourhood garden”, so I’m being interviewed as one of the friendly neighbours! Imagine that! Your mum on prime-time TV! I’m going to get your dad to film me on the iPad tonight so I can work out my best angles. It’s all so thrilling!’

‘I thought you weren’t speaking to Martha?’

‘Oh no, darling, don’t be ridiculous. We’ve both just been a bit busy, that’s all, and then there was that little miscommunication over the magnolia. And actually, the jasmine has grown on me. There are apparently lots of jasmine notes in the Dior perfumes—the ones with Charlize Theron in the ads. Anyhow, you be careful at Bunnings and remember to get a nice shop person to help you carry the timber. You don’t want to hurt yourself in this heat. I’ve got to pop over to Martha’s. We’re going to do a little run-through of the garden and practise some good comments. I was thinking we should make a point of mentioning the birdhouse because then I can make some funny jokes about us being a pair of old birds too. I think Johanna would really have a giggle at that one. Better go, darling, bye!’

Poppy stared at the road and blinked three times to check it wasn’t a dream. The backflips her mother could perform were incredible.

Maeve was still grumbling in the back when she arrived at the Bunnings car park. Poppy glanced at her phone and suddenly Dani’s name appeared on the screen before she’d even heard it ring. Funny how often that happened. She scooped it up and pressed the green button.

‘DARNEE!’

‘PARPEE! Happy New Year, my dear. How are you?’

‘It’s too hot. I feel like a gelatinous lobster. My hairline is so sweaty I look like I’m trying for that wet-look style that J.Lo used to do—though in my case it stinks of BO.’

‘Wow, there’s a lot to unpack there.’

‘Yeah, and Maeve has the shits too,’ Poppy said, getting out of the car to open Maeve’s door. ‘Not gastro. Just the figurative shits. It’s too hot.’

‘Where are you?’

‘Just arrived at Bunnings, why?’

‘Why are you at Bunnings?’

Poppy explained her plans for the sandpit while Dani made unimpressed grunting sounds to convey her distaste for hardware stores. That was a luxury she could afford, living in an already-renovated terrace.

‘I’ll leave you to it then, my dear,’ said Dani. ‘Enjoy yourself and then go have a shower. I can smell you from here.’

‘Did you call just to annoy me?’

‘Just to hear your voice, my lovely.’

Poppy walked into the store and smiled. ‘Love you too, dickhead.’

She slid the phone into the pocket of her denim shorts and grabbed a trolley, funnelling Maeve’s legs into the front seat.

‘Can I help you?’ asked a teenage boy wearing a Bunnings polo. He had a magnificent mullet that cascaded onto his shoulders. He must have been growing it since his tweens.

‘I’m looking for sand,’ said Poppy. ‘And tarps. And timber. I’m making a sandpit.’

‘You’re doing it yourself?’ he asked.

‘Yep.’

‘Cool,’ he said, impressed, and Poppy felt herself swell with pride.

‘The sand is in the outdoor section and the timber is at the opposite end, down there.’ He pointed to his left. ‘Tarps are in aisle twenty-three. Good luck.’

‘Thanks,’ replied Poppy. She set off towards aisle twenty-three, coming to an abrupt stop when she reached it. Wow, there were lots of tarps. And Jesus, so many specifications she’d not considered: fabric type, grams per square metre, hem quality, denier density. She needed help.

‘Excuse me,’ she called lamely, looking left and right for a polo-shirted staff member.

Predictably, no-one came. She lifted up her t-shirt to wipe the sweat off her face, squinting at the packaging in front of her. Maeve whined more loudly.

‘Far out,’ Poppy muttered under her breath. What was the difference between ‘extreme heavy duty’ and ‘industrial strength’? They sounded the same but the price difference was huge. Was this some secret code designed to confuse her?

She scanned the shelves for the second-cheapest brand. It was flimsy logic but hopefully it would do the job. She chucked a dark green tarp into the trolley and Maeve grumbled at the jolt. Poppy patted her head. ‘It’ll be over soon,’ she promised, steering the trolley back towards the central aisle.

Playing a half-hearted one-handed game of peekaboo to distract Maeve, she made her way to the outdoor section, which was a giant steel greenhouse tightly packed with plants, cubby houses and acrid-smelling potting mix. Poppy took a half-breath in shock when they entered. It was so stiflingly hot she could taste the heat on her tongue. Maeve began to wail, so Poppy pulled her out of the trolley and onto her hip, steering the trolley with her spare hand. She needed this sand and she needed it fast.

She finally found the aisle with bags of sand piled up in towers. She plonked Maeve on the concrete floor at her feet and went to grab a bag from the top of the pile. Jeez, they were heavy. She looked left and right for help. Again, there was no-one in sight. This was becoming a common theme.

She turned back to the sand tower and tugged at one of the bags. She yanked again and the bag shifted two inches towards her. Progress. She gave another almighty yank and the bag came with her as she fell to the floor, her tailbone hitting hot concrete.

A pain tingled up her spine and Poppy felt tears of helplessness prick her eyes as she heaved the sandbag into the trolley and hoisted her daughter onto her hip. Deep down she’d known it was ridiculous to build a sandpit, but that stupid, stubborn part of her had wanted to impress everyone with how capable she was. Look at me, just casually building a sandpit. Don’t mind me, just single-mothering like a boss . God, if this past year had taught her anything it should have been to lower her standards to the lowest possible degree, not try to be a hero.

She moved Maeve from her hip, lowered her into the trolley and began pushing it towards her last stop: the timber section.

‘Okay,’ breathed Poppy, more to herself than to her daughter. The walls of timber were threateningly high and the lengths were preposterously long. Maeve banged her hands against the trolley handle. Poppy looked up and down the empty aisle, feeling a familiar sinking feeling, when suddenly—like the sun peeping through the clouds—a red polo shirt appeared.

‘Need some help, ma’am?’ asked another teenager with a mullet.

‘I need four pieces of timber, please—about a metre long each.’

‘I can give you one four-metre length for you to cut into one-metre lengths,’ suggested the kid.

Poppy found his assumption that she would own some kind of woodcutting implement both fortifying and irritating. Kids these days knew nothing about how people actually lived.

‘No, thank you, I’ll just take four one-metre lengths.’

‘I can’t do that,’ replied the kid.

‘Excuse me?’ asked Poppy, raising an eyebrow.

‘The tradies all prefer four metres, so we only stock those. We don’t get many lady customers up here in the timber section.’ He paused as if to remind her of her own femaleness. ‘Can’t you get your husband to cut it up for you?’

Poppy stared at the kid, a fire igniting in her belly that had nothing to do with the heatwave. Was this really happening on the first of January? Was she going to have another whole year of this assumed husband crap? She hadn’t even made it to Australia Day. Wasn’t this generation supposed to be woke? Oh, the things she could teach this mullet head.

She was about to give him an education in heteronormative stereotypes when she heard a voice behind her, say, ‘I can help.’

Poppy turned, knowing in some part of her body what she was about to see. Thoughts of strangling the mullet kid faded. It was as though every bad decision had led her here. As she spun, it was as though her brain had retired. She was muscle and energy, a beating heart and a clueless soul.

‘James?’ she squeaked.

‘Poppy.’ He said it like an incantation, his eyes on her, unwavering.

‘Budda ludda budda baaa!’ cried Maeve happily, reaching towards James. He picked her up and kissed her forehead, letting her tiny legs wrap around his torso.

‘What are you doing here?’ Poppy asked.

He cleared his throat. ‘I was—’

‘Awesome,’ interrupted the teenager. ‘Your husband can cut the timber for you.’ He turned to James now. ‘Mate, grab any piece you want and take it through the checkout at the back. Saves carrying it through the whole shop.’

Poppy watched him lope off, oblivious to the mess he’d left behind.

‘He’s not my husband!’ she yelled at his back.

The teenager just shrugged as if to say, Whatever, lady .

‘Can you believe that kid?’ she fumed. ‘Did he grow up with the Amish or something? Does he think women are still milking cows and churning butter like the suffragettes never existed? I mean, do I look like I can’t handle myself with a chainsaw?’ She glanced down at herself. ‘Actually don’t answer that.’

She looked back up at James. The corners of his mouth were struggling to stay neutral.

‘What?’ she demanded.

James’s face relented and a wide grin appeared, blinding like the sun. ‘Nothing’s changed, I see.’

Poppy glared. ‘Are you patronising me?’

‘By definition, no,’ replied James. ‘I never feel any inch of control when you’re around, hence the lack of condescension.’

Poppy narrowed her eyes. Maeve was still in his arms.

‘I was admiring your commitment to exposing unconscious biases and’—James paused—‘your commitment to DIY projects.’

Now he was definitely making fun of her. It was already too hot in this godforsaken town; she did not need James swanning in being so handsome and distracting when she knew he’d moved to Melbourne six weeks ago.

‘Why are you here?’

‘I would have thought that was obvious.’

‘You’re buying timber?’

‘I came to see you.’ He was serious now. Maeve’s head was on his shoulder.

‘How did you know I was here?’

‘I can’t tell you that,’ replied James.

‘Why?’

‘Because it’s kind of stalker-ish.’

Poppy pulled her daughter out of his arms, her fingertips buzzing as they brushed his skin. She wondered if he felt it too—a pull in the stomach, an attraction she couldn’t control. She couldn’t look at him holding Maeve anymore. It was too confusing.

‘Tell me,’ she ordered.

James raked a hand through his hair. ‘To cut a long story short, I rang Kate, who rang April, who messaged Dani, who rang you and then called April, who rang Kate, who rang me, and now here we are. Though I’m glossing over the bits where each of them independently reached out to lecture me about the broken heart.’

Poppy bristled. ‘I never told any of them I had a broken heart.’

‘I never said it was yours,’ James said quietly.

Poppy swallowed. There was fear in her throat but there was a flicker of hope too.

‘Why are you here?’ she asked again. ‘You live in Melbourne.’

‘I did move to Melbourne,’ James agreed, nodding slowly.

Poppy felt a pent-up tension in her chest deflate. He had moved to Melbourne; it hadn’t been a bad dream.

Maeve reached for James and he stuck his finger out for her to latch on to. They were linked now. Poppy holding Maeve, Maeve holding James.

‘It was all going perfectly,’ James continued. ‘I was meeting great people, I had this shiny apartment, I was walking distance to the MCG and twenty-seven cafes or something. But then I realised nothing actually felt real. It was easy, it was okay, it was good even, but it wasn’t me. I was doing what I thought I should want but I hadn’t considered what I actually wanted.’

His voice was soft now, like a breeze. The sounds of nearby shoppers had faded to silence. Maeve was uncharacteristically silent.

‘I was trying to kickstart my life by forcing a big change but I realised I didn’t need to manufacture an artificial turning point to push me forward. My turning point came twelve months ago and it led me to exactly where I wanted to be and I was too dumb to realise.’ He shook his head. ‘I didn’t need to move to a big city to find myself. I know who I am already. I’m a boring loser who loves his mum and family and dog, and I love my cricket team and I fucking love country music, and I realised I actually hate hipster cafes where the music is too loud and the coffee comes in weird cups without handles, and sometimes I like watching TV on a Saturday night and not socialising, and sometimes I go to the gym just to see people and belong somewhere, and sometimes I smile and nod because I can’t be bothered with conflict, and sometimes I do get angry and that’s okay, because I’ve realised I don’t have to be perfect and no-one is.’ James paused and took a deep breath. ‘So, when I realised I didn’t even like the coffee down there, I had to ask myself the obvious question.’

‘Which was?’ asked Poppy, her voice timid.

‘There were lots of questions, actually, but the first question was: could I transfer universities?’

Okay , that had not been as significant as the lead-up suggested, but practical was fine. She could deal with practical.

‘There were other questions,’ he continued. ‘Big things I needed to consider and face up to.’

He shifted on the balls of his feet, rocking towards Poppy. ‘After I broke up with Adelaide, I wasn’t so much sad as I was angry with myself. I knew she wasn’t right for me, but I stuck around because I didn’t want to be like my dad and just leave. So instead I stayed and was miserable, and then when we broke up I resolved never to waste my time being the nice guy again. Life’s too short to be a boyfriend of Instagram. And then I met you, and here was this beautiful, intelligent, confident woman, and I literally didn’t care what you thought of me, and you were the same, and it was perfect: I could be myself because there was nothing at stake.

‘And then somehow, a year goes by and suddenly everything is at stake, and I wish I could take back all the times I’ve upset you and made you mad, but at the same time I’m so glad I did that because you know me now. I’ve never been so honest with anyone, I’ve never been so vulnerable and so real. You know the cracks and flaws and, somehow, you still don’t hate me.’

‘I could never hate you,’ said Poppy, her heart beating thunderously against her rib cage.

James raised his eyebrow. ‘Really?’

‘Okay, but in my defence, I was chock-full of hormones when we first met.’

James smiled now, his eyes sparkling. ‘The more I saw you, the happier I became. All this resentment I’d been carrying just kind of … faded. I was so confused, because I didn’t know if I was happier because of something in me, or if I was happier because of you, and then I worked it out. It wasn’t just about me and it wasn’t just about you; it was about us together. We were two negatives making a positive.’

Poppy’s throat felt thick. The movement of oxygen to her brain was slowing. All she could taste was sawdust and sand.

‘I was so sick of pretending,’ said James. ‘I was so scared of settling. But with you, I never pretended. We were both so real. I understand now that I don’t need to be the nice guy all the time. Sometimes people piss me off, sometimes I want to yell at Eileen for eating my shoes, sometimes I want to troll people on social media.’

‘You’d never!’ cried Poppy.

‘I might. Did you hear they might stop producing Cornflakes? I actually considered trolling the CEO.’

‘Well, that’s fair enough.’

‘Completely. But more to the point, while I was sitting in Melbourne drinking my piccolos, I realised if this last year has taught me anything it’s that life can change in an instant, and that when you find something that makes you happy, you have to grab it and hold on to it. And then I realised I’m the luckiest guy in the world because I found two somethings that make me happy. I found you and I found Maeve.’

Poppy stood rooted to the spot. She couldn’t definitively confirm it but she suspected she had stopped breathing. ‘Back to the original question,’ she whispered. ‘Could you swap universities?’

‘Yes.’ The light in James’s eyes began to dance.

‘And?’

‘I start Monday week.’ He paused. ‘And I get free parking.’

‘For the love of god,’ cried Poppy. ‘Tell me where!’

James grinned. ‘You’re looking at the newest obstetrician-in-training at CSU Orange.’

Poppy’s body reacted before her brain did. Her spare arm flung around James’s neck, and she pressed herself against his warmth. Tears were forming in the corners of her eyes and she blinked them away. This was so embarrassing, but she was so happy he was back. She didn’t need any labels or any commitment or anything more than this. She just needed this moment, this three-person hug.

She didn’t care she was covering him with sweat and grime, because if he complained she knew she could tell him he was ruining the moment, and he’d laugh and say she was right but she was still gross, then she would laugh and agree. She didn’t need to bite her tongue or tiptoe around anything. She didn’t need to pretend. She’d found someone with whom she could be her truest self, and she was going to keep her body pressed against his for as long as she could.

‘I was really hoping you’d react like this,’ James murmured into her hair, one arm wrapped around her back as Maeve gripped the other. ‘Otherwise, that stalking would have seemed so much creepier.’

Poppy laughed and pulled back slightly. She put Maeve in the trolley and they both handed her their keys. Maeve’s eyes widened, delighted. Double keys! Jackpot!

James took Poppy’s hands and wove his fingers through hers. ‘Poppy McKellar, sometimes I get angry and sometimes things piss me off, but when I’m with you, even the bad stuff feels easier. You make me happier than I’ve ever been before, and if you’ll accept that my intentions are completely dishonourable and I am extremely committed to getting you into bed again, I would love to take you out to dinner.’

Poppy’s heart thundered in her chest. ‘Like a date?’

‘It would one thousand per cent be a date, and I want many more dates after that. We can go to every restaurant in town, then we can try every pub, we can try every barbecue station in every park, and then maybe we can branch out to Millthorpe and Molong. By the time I’ve courted you properly, you’ll know every eatery in the Central West.’

Poppy’s head was swimming with stars. This was everything she’d been dreaming of for months and it was here, a real chance at a life with James in it, but she couldn’t walk into this blind. She had Maeve to think about. They were a package deal.

‘Are you sure, James?’ she asked. ‘I’m a single mum, remember. There are so many single women out there who are much cooler than I am and heaps more organised too. I mean, there are probably girls out there who like cricket—and I have to be upfront about this: I don’t think I’ll ever like cricket. Are you sure you want to go out with me?’

James smiled. ‘Poppy,’ he said, his hands sliding up her arms, ‘I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.’

‘But what if—’

‘Poppy,’ James interrupted, ‘please shut up. I’m in love with you.’

Poppy felt it then: a tectonic plate shifting deep within her. She didn’t know if she was breathing or her heart was beating, but something inside her suddenly unravelled.

‘I love you too,’ she breathed. The words slipped out like blossoms on a breeze. She hadn’t even formed the words in her head before she said them, but a part of her had known for ages. Yes, I love him . It seemed so obvious now.

James pulled her towards him and kissed her. His lips were just as she remembered, warm and tender and giving, and Poppy felt herself melt. If she could have this for forever, or even just a little while, the last twelve months would be worth it.

They wrapped their arms around one another and fell into a hug, breathing into each other’s skin.

‘Is this fate?’ asked James, his lips against her neck.

Poppy considered this. If the universe had a plan for her, she was eternally grateful it had brought her to Bunnings on this New Year’s Day, but she knew with a deep confidence that she’d brought herself here. Poppy McKellar had been the person who decided to build a sandpit even when everyone else called her crazy. She’d made every decision leading to this point, and while there had been moments over the past year that had tested her and scared her, she had battled through them. She still wasn’t a brave person, but she knew now that she was strong.

‘I’ve decided I don’t believe in fate anymore,’ she said, picking Maeve back up. ‘I think we’re all just doing the best we can, and sometimes—call it fate if you want—the right person turns up at the right time.’

‘Like now?’ asked James.

‘Like now,’ Poppy agreed. There would always be decisions to make, chaos to overcome and a daughter to decode, but for now, she felt at peace with that.

In her arms, Maeve shook the keys like a pair of maracas and around them oblivious shoppers searched for skirting boards and pedestal fans while mullet-haired kids in red polo shirts pretended to be useful.

James squeezed her tight and kissed her forehead. Poppy’s heart was as full as it had ever been.

‘Want to get out of here?’ she asked, her eyes giddy with possibility.

James nodded. ‘You lead the way.’

And then, whether it was the universe’s plan or not, he carried the timber to the checkout and then on to her car.