Chapter 2 #2
‘Uncle Jack didn’t know we took him. And you can’t put Orange Peel in a plastic bag, Mum,’ Harriet said.
‘He fits in my handbag.’ She opened her small woven handbag and tucked the creature inside, a flurry of wriggling feet and squeaks.
Harriet fastened the clasp and stuffed the bag under her jumper. Shielding it from Clem, no doubt.
‘I want to hold him.’ Indi’s bottom lip trembled and Clem softened as she saw her daughter tearing up. She felt like crying too.
‘We wouldn’t have been caught if you hadn’t taken him out of my bag, Indi,’ Harriet grumbled, then turned her eyes to Spencer, who had appeared behind Clem, an insulated Coles shopping bag in one hand.
‘What are we dealing with? A stowaway lizard? A bird? A kitten?’
‘Worse,’ Clem said. ‘A guinea pig.’
‘His name’s Orange Peel,’ Harriet said. ‘Our cousin Selina had babies.’
‘Her guinea pig had babies,’ Clem corrected. ‘And we are definitely not keeping it. Absolutely, definitely not. We’ve already talked about this.’
‘We’re borrowing him,’ Harriet hedged. ‘For one teeny tiny night. So we can know what it’s like to have a pet.’
Clem shook her head. ‘Who needs video cameras and scripts when you could have daily drama, brought to you by this pair of Crossley scallywags? Those evil furry creatures are the stuff of nightmares. They certainly ruined my dreams of becoming a jewellery model.’
She stuck out her hand, relieved her body parts were capable of moving again, to show Spencer the decades-old injury. She waggled the finger at Indi and Harriet, who knew the story well. ‘See?’
‘Lived experience, huh?’ Spencer winced in sympathy, but she could see the corners of his mouth twitching with amusement.
She laughed too, surprised to see him finally let his guard down.
‘The guinea pig that bit me was a whopper, my parents took a photo of me holding it just moments beforehand, and neither the fingernail nor the fingertip grew back after the scar tissue healed.’
Clementine had been younger than Indi was now when it happened, but the incident had left her set against all rodents. Pets in general, quite possibly.
She pushed her hands into her back pockets and shuddered at the memory. The minute they got home, she’d give the girls a serious talking to.
‘Well, if you’re all sorted here, I’ll be on my way,’ Spencer said, glancing up at the gathering clouds. ‘Shall I return this bag to the boot with the food boxes?’
The catering! Clem blew out a frustrated breath.
She still needed to drop off the grazing platters to a client on the other side of town; she’d completely forgotten.
She couldn’t, in all good conscience, roll up there knowing there was a guinea pig in the car, and risk the girls letting it loose again.
But she didn’t have time to drop the darn thing back at Selina and Fiona’s house, given it was on the opposite side of town.
‘I can’t believe they smuggled a guinea pig into my Jeep. Council’s health inspector would have my licence if she knew.’ She studied Spencer’s soft grey eyes, trying to gauge how much of a stickler for the rules he was. ‘You’re not going to … er, mention it, are you?’
The idea made her feel sick, and even though he shook his head and assured her he wouldn’t, she couldn’t help wondering about his moral compass.
After all, wasn’t he willingly going into a lion’s den of reality TV, where women were pitted against one another to create drama, and the unscrupulous practice of dating several girls at once was being promoted, all on camera?
She studied Spencer, noticing the salt and pepper flecks in his fair hair, the thick eyebrows and the clipped beard hiding a strong, square jaw. She wouldn’t have picked him as a reality TV junkie.
Movement behind him caught her attention and she turned to see Marco Grubb in his brown Brew Haven uniform. Had he heard her yelling about the guinea pig, or even worse, seen that she had an animal in the same vehicle she was using to transport food?
Two minutes ago, she’d been certain Misty, the sharp-toothed guinea pig of her childhood, was the stuff of nightmares. But with the eagle-eyed Marco nearby, she felt like guinea pigs, both past and present, were the least of her worries.
Clem rushed to shut the boot, relieved that nothing untoward was on display.
Marco made a show of pretending to be friendly, but Clem didn’t trust him.
His daughter Pansy bounded over, giving the adults a gap-toothed smile before poking her tongue out at Indi and Harriet.
Indi responded by squishing her face against the car window, so her nose was flattened Miss Piggy-style against the glass.
Harriet pulled a ghastly face, and they continued trading silly looks until all three girls were in hysterics.
Clem spared a thought for the educators who had to wrangle them during school hours.
‘Shouldn’t be surprised these interviews are running behind schedule, if staff are standing around in the car park chatting.
Come on Pansy, time to face the music; let’s see what your teacher has to say this term,’ Marco said, shooting a narrow look at the Crossley girls.
‘Easily distracted, easily influenced,’ he added grimly. Pansy’s goofy grin vanished.
Clem caught her eye, giving the girl what she hoped was a ‘chin up, you’ll do great’ smile before Pansy turned and trailed behind Marco to the school auditorium.
It felt like every Sunday driver was out and about, determined to do fifteen kilometres below the legal speed limit, as Spencer navigated the road between South Giddi Giddi and the Penwarra tennis courts on a blustery May morning.
Ian had been distracted the whole drive, hardly saying a word, his attention fixed on the paddocks outside the car window.
‘It’s not like they’ll start without us, Ian, don’t stress. And all will be forgiven when we carry Louisa’s banana honey cake into the clubrooms.’
Normally Ian would make a comment comparing the wet roads to the icy Canadian terrain he’d learned to drive on, but today the older man stayed silent.
‘I could’ve found another scorer for tennis today—Mia’s always happy to come for a match or two. That foot of yours aching again?’
Ian shook his head, barely glancing at the metal contraption enclosing his broken foot, or the walking stick he needed even on flat surfaces, like the recently refurbished tennis courts.
‘Mia’s got enough on her plate, especially with that little firecracker Reggie, and another on the way.
This ridiculous injury isn’t going to keep me housebound any longer.
I’m sick of staring at the same four walls. ’
Spencer slowed at an intersection and covertly assessed the man beside him, who had aged years in the short space of time between his daughter’s terminal diagnosis and her death. Was the stress of the TV show finally rearing its ugly head?
‘Ian, if it’s the show that’s worrying you, it’s probably not too late,’ Spencer said. ‘I’m supposed to fly out tomorrow, and filming starts Monday, but that doesn’t mean I have to get on that plane. Say the word, Ian. If you or Louisa have changed your mind, I’ll pull the pin. Seriously.’
A faded blue tractor chugged along the road, and Spencer went wide as he overtook it, admiring the old-fashioned soil cultivator it towed. The fact that Ian hadn’t commented on the unusual piece of machinery spoke volumes. The silence widened with the gap between the two vehicles.
Paddocks and single-lane limestone tracks soon became sealed roads and row upon row of grapevines, and the puddles petered out as they drew closer to town.
Eventually, Ian shook his head. ‘We’re the ones who urged you to go on that program in the first place, the last thing we’d do is take it back, especially right before you leave.
But we know you’re a humble man, and we understand how these shows work.
Spencer, when the cameras are rolling, we think it’s a good idea to portray South Giddi Giddi as your farm. ’
Spencer reeled. ‘What?’
‘It’ll all come your way eventually, and nobody needs to get bogged down in technicalities about who owns what. We could even head to Canada while you’re filming at the farm, get out of your hair for a few months, if you like.’
A colleague’s comment from earlier that week echoed through Spencer’s mind.
It’s not like you’re even a real farmer, the bee-keeping and farmhand stuff is just a side hustle until the principal’s job is up for grabs.
And though he’d denied it then, the truth in those words had kept him up more than a few nights since.
Shaking his head, Spencer turned to Ian.
‘That’s crazy talk, it’s your home. I’m not going to throw you out or strut around pretending it’s all mine. Your opinions about these ladies are important to me. Tell Louisa to put your passports back in the filing cabinet.’
The courts came into view and though they were cutting it fine before the match started, Spencer parked and turned to his father-in-law.
‘I’m tipping these next seven weeks are going to be weird for all of us, but maybe it’ll be worth all the rigamarole.
If it were up to me, after everything that’s happened, I’d bunker down with Dolly as the leading lady in my life, but I made a promise. ’
Ian nodded, and with a deep sigh, he grabbed his walking stick. ‘And we swore we’d prod you if you stayed in grieving-widower mode too long. So, let’s charge ahead as planned, and pray two cranky old codgers don’t scare those lovely ladies off.’
‘Old? Pffft!’ Spencer grabbed his tennis racquet from the back seat and opened his door. ‘More likely I’ll be the one scaring them off,’ he chuckled.
‘Our Belle’s probably watching from above, popcorn at the ready. She sure liked watching that show, all those wholesome couples and romantic farmers.’
Spencer shut the car door a little too hard, focusing on dislodging the sudden lump in his throat. Ian and Louisa dropped her name into casual conversation with an ease he’d come to envy.
But if Belle was watching … he only hoped she’d forgive him for taking a punt on love with a national audience following along every step of the way.