House for All Seasons Page 9

  Sara couldn’t wait to see her onstage.

  9

  Who’d have thought watching primary school kids bump and bumble their way through a repertoire of waste recycling songs while dressed as rubbish would be so entertaining.

  Sara laughed until her cheeks hurt.

  She’d sat at the front of the school assembly hall with Will in what the not-so-subtle usher had described as: ‘The special spot. For wheelchairs and disabled people.’

  Will had shrugged off the unintentional affront, even though he’d grumbled about being put, when he would have preferred to sit with his parents, already seated on the other side of the hall. Sara, on the other hand, was glad. She’d yet to be officially reacquainted with Will’s mother and father, with time only for vague nods and platitudes whenever they crossed paths at the café.

  ‘Whatever you do,’ Will warned, ‘don’t tell Caroline about the disabled seating comment. She’ll only make a fuss. She likes to stand up for me.’

  Sara feigned a smile, still finding Will’s candour about his paraplegia unsettling.

  The night turned out to be quite the reunion, with plenty of people recognising Sara from her schooldays. She took nearly an hour to work through the small crowd of curious ex-classmates there to watch their kids, and to field the same questions from each one:

  What are you doing here?

  How long are you in town?

  I thought that was you at the café.

  Oh, yes, I heard about Gypsy’s house.

  If the town hadn’t been talking about Sara, her friends, or the old house before tonight, it certainly was now.

  With barely time to congratulate Jasmine on the concert, an impatient Caroline—chauffeur for the night—whisked her son and his children off home, leaving Sara to fend for herself. Watching Caroline rousting up her flock and waddling out of the school auditorium like a mother duck both surprised and saddened Sara—the scene a shot of reality, her first glimpse of Will’s existence beyond the café.

  No wonder he spent so much time at work.

  *

  Will telephoned early the next day to apologise for leaving Sara alone with the rabble.

  ‘The attention was kind of nice for someone who wasn’t particularly popular at school,’ Sara said. ‘Not bad for business either.’

  ‘Business?’

  ‘Let’s just say, if I took up every invitation to meet for coffee, your business would boom.’ Sara was getting used to the sound of her own laughter. ‘Seriously, Will, I had a lovely time. And even in a garbage bag, Jazzy is adorable.’

  ‘And doesn’t she know it.’ Will chuckled. ‘But that’s why I’m calling. They are both totally buggered, and Jazzy’s broken out in hives. I think it’s actually a sweat rash from wearing a plastic bag. I decided to keep her quiet and at home today.’

  ‘Sounds like a good idea.’

  ‘I thought so until Caroline reminded me she’s dragging Dad off to a race-day do in Saddleton. She’s patron of some charity event. That leaves me in a jam. I can’t leave Jaz, and I can’t leave Jen and Dom alone in the café. Not today.’

  ‘How can I help?’ Sara crossed her fingers and hoped he wasn’t about to ask her to work, not if that meant a whole shift with Jennifer bossing her around.

  ‘I was hoping you’d ask. If you could come over and stay here, I only need be at the café for a couple of hours over lunch. Jazzy won’t be any trouble. She’s not like her father.’

  Sara heard the grin. ‘Well, in that case … of course I can sit with Jazzy. I’ll change and come straight over.’

  ‘Great! We’re at the far end of Briar Field Road these days, the old Devison property, through the green gates to the left, then follow your nose. Oh, and Sara …’

  ‘Yes, Will?’

  ‘Don’t change. I like you just as you are. Always have.’

  10

  Sara remembered the old Devison property as being impenetrable with a regular vehicle, especially in the wet, when the level crossing would flood to around hubcap height, sometimes more. She’d driven out there with her father on many occasions. Mrs Devison used to spin wool and Sara’s mother used to knit the wool into squares and give them to the Country Women’s Association ladies, who then sewed the squares into blankets and gave the blankets to the local wildlife rescue group in Saddleton. It was big business and something her mother had enjoyed, before Liz’s fingers stopped doing what her brain told them.

  Will’s sprawling, single-level house was perched on a small rise, overlooking a vast spread of dam-fed pasturelands, a backdrop of the ranges creating a picture-perfect landscape. Gone was the raised, high-maintenance weatherboard Queenslander she remembered. This very modern, very sleek, all-brick house with bay windows and a concrete column colonnade was at odds with the countryside; it was a house in need of a suburb.

  After a quick check of her face in the rear-view mirror—she’d thought a little mascara and lippy might be appropriate in case she inadvertently found herself in a meet-the-parents situation—Sara grabbed the box of chocolates from the passenger seat and told herself, ‘Just be yourself.’

  Within seconds of her slamming the car door, several small, barking dogs bounded across the yard, tangling themselves around her ankles, some jumping, some yelping with excitement, some content to sniff at Sara’s sandalled feet.

  ‘Don’t worry, they’re all bark,’ Will called out. ‘My mother’s idea of protection.’

  ‘Really! What are they protecting?’ Sara almost tripped over the smallest one as it left a wet trail on the gravel surface. ‘Ew-yuck, this one almost peed on my foot.’

  ‘That’s Pee-casso. Just his little way of saying hello.’ Will’s laugh turned into a loud whooshing sound as he wheeled along the crushed white granite path, waving his arms above his head. It seemed quite effective, but not as effective as the tennis ball Will pitched, sending the dogs barrelling over the field that sloped gently downhill. The painstakingly maintained pathway meandered towards a shady section of creek in the distance.

  ‘As for me,’ he said, taking Sara’s hand, ‘I prefer a more traditional hello. Welcome to my home.’ He tugged on her arm, pulling her down until he could kiss her on both cheeks, lingering a little longer than tradition in Sara’s estimation. ‘Come on in.’

  The affectionate welcome had set a kookaburra among the butterflies in her stomach. Will was fast becoming Sara’s constant companion, not only in person by day, but in her mind each night in bed when she closed her eyes and imagined she was sixteen again, and brave.

  ‘Sara, Sara, Perfume Wearer,’ Jazzy chanted, skipping down the hallway and wrapping her arms around Sara’s hips.

  ‘Did you make up that rhyme just for me?’

  ‘Daddy says you smell nice.’

  ‘Does he?’ Sara pictured the surprise in her own eyes.

  Will obviously saw it too. He coughed, cleared his throat, and grabbed Jazzy, dragging her body across his lap.

  ‘You told on me. That’s it, missy. The nose goes. No more Sara, Sara, Perfume Wearer for you.’ He pretended to grab his daughter’s button nose and stuff it in his pocket. Then he tickled her until she squealed. ‘Off you go. I won’t be gone long.’ He looked at Sara apologetically. ‘Maybe I should’ve said welcome to my chaotic existence.’

  ‘Looks like a good chaos.’

  ‘Hmm, right then.’ Will propelled himself along the polished tile floor. ‘Are you sure you’re fine with all this? I’ll be a couple of hours, max. There’s food in the refrigerator, tea, coffee, biscuits … Oh, and I think I need to warn you about the DVD.’

  ‘Warn me?’

  ‘Your survival could depend on this information, Sara.’ Will forced a serious voice. ‘You must remind Jazzy that the machine overheats so it can only play The Lion King once and then it needs to rest, just like Jazzy does.’

  ‘Oh, Will.’ Sara laughed at his exaggerated wink. ‘It’s fine. Stop worrying. Besides, I’ve never watched The Lion King.’
<
br />   ‘You’ll be sooorrry. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.’ He grabbed his car keys from the kitchen counter. ‘The sooner I go, the sooner I’ll be back. You’re staying for dinner when I get home, I hope.’ Before Sara could answer he was out the door and yelling back, ‘Be good, both of you.’

  Sara watched him go, witnessing the awkward struggle as he manoeuvred his body from the wheelchair into the driver’s seat, the mechanical aid folding the wheelchair into place on the car’s roof. Sadness washed over her at the sight of the once virile young man she’d fantasised about—his lower half wasted—challenged by the everyday task of driving, his legs plainly burdensome from the way he dragged them into place behind the wheel.

  ‘Sara, Sara, Perfume Wearer …’ Jazzy’s chant was a welcome boost to Sara’s spirits after watching Will.

  She looked around the neat-as-a-pin, open-plan house with its extra wide sliding doors, minimalist furniture and low-line countertops. Not that low-line anything was a problem for someone of Sara’s short stature. In fact, it made a pleasant change.

  She’d learned from talking to Will that he lived in a separate, purpose-built wing, with his parents occupying the remainder of the sprawling residence. According to Will, such close proximity had been necessary when he first moved back home, given he had two infants to care for. Sara took from his tone that while he didn’t find it ideal, he was resigned to the situation staying that way. ‘At least until the kids are older,’ he’d said one day.

  Will had been right about Sara no longer seeing the wheelchair. At least she hadn’t noticed it all this time in the café, or just now in Will’s house. As she looked around, she understood why. Subtle adjustments made Will’s world manageable, both at the café and at home. Sara rarely saw him outside either environment. Watching Will get into the car just now, modified for him, had brought the wheelchair back into focus.

  ‘Sara,’ Jazzy called from the next room. ‘Come watch The Lion King.’

  *

  By the time the credits rolled, Will’s whistle carried through the front door, followed soon after by the man and his son.

  ‘Hey there, has my little lion king been good for Sara, Sara, Perfume Wearer?’

  ‘Daddy’s home! Come watch The Lion King with us, Daddy.’

  Will peered at Sara over the top of Jazzy’s bear hug and Sara shook her head, mouthing the word no.

  ‘Maybe later, pumpkin. Daddy’s got dinner for four. You’re staying to eat, I hope, Sara.’

  ‘Yes, yes, yes.’ Jazzy jiggled up and down on her dad’s lap.

  ‘Only if I can help,’ Sara said.

  ‘Nope, all under control.’

  She let out an exaggerated sigh, smiled at Will and said, ‘Okay then, if I can’t help I guess I’ll have to stay here with Jazzy and practise our rendition of “The Circle of Life” so we can sing it over and over after dinner.’

  ‘On second thoughts, maybe you should help me.’ Will chuckled and wheeled towards the kitchen.

  *

  After dinner, he hustled the kids off to their rooms—not that Jasper had needed much coaxing—while Sara took two glasses of red wine onto the back deck. The mountain ranges were now black smudges against the darkening sky and to her delight a rainbow, small and distant, followed the line of the mountains like a colourful crown.

  ‘Thanks again for today,’ Will said.

  ‘I told you I do anything for food and wine.’ Sara settled onto the three-seater redwood patio settee that butted up against the brick facade of the house. ‘Thank Dom for that lasagne. Best I’ve tasted.’

  ‘Dom?’ Will baulked, exaggerating shock. ‘I’ll have you know I cooked that meal. Okay, so it was leftovers from the night before, but all mine.’

  ‘Is there no end to your talents, Will Travelli?’

  ‘You haven’t seen anything yet. Shove over. Incoming!’ Will produced a wooden board from behind his wheelchair. He jammed his chair against the settee and engaged the wheel brakes, then hoisted himself out of the chair and along the transfer board. Sara went to move further, feeling awkward and in the way, not knowing how to help, or even whether to offer. ‘Stay, stay. I can work around you.’ He slid his body next to hers on the seat. ‘I like to get out of that thing every now and then. Makes me feel normal again.’

  ‘You were never normal, Will.’ Sara nudged his shoulder with hers and he shoved back, shifting closer. He hooked his arm around her neck and pulled her into him with the same brotherly affection he’d shown her when they were kids. The type of hug that acknowledged they’d lived in the same street, played cricket in the middle of it every weekend, and shared sherbets and ice blocks when it got too hot.

  ‘You’ve changed, Sara Fraser.’

  She sipped her wine, letting it moisten her lips so they slipped into an easy smile. ‘Twenty years is a long time. We’re not sixteen anymore, that’s for sure.’

  ‘Maybe that’s a good thing.’

  He slid his finger along the soft inside of her elbow, but brushed a little too close to her body. Sara flinched and clasped the lapels of her open-neck shirt.

  ‘Don’t, Will,’ she said, shifting away, needing space, needing to breathe.

  ‘Don’t what? Touch you? That’s like me saying to you, “Don’t look so touchable.”’ He grinned. ‘Ain’t possible. In case you haven’t noticed, I want to get to know you, Sara, every gorgeous inch of you.’

  Sara went to stand, but Will’s hand held her down.

  ‘What is it? Have I made the wrong assumption? You never said, but I gathered you and Joel were history. Am I wrong?’

  ‘No, yes, no. I mean … we are divorced. I … I thought I’d mentioned that.’

  Sara turned her face in case the lie showed.

  ‘No, you didn’t, and I was a little confused. For a while, though, I did wonder what a married woman was doing getting all palsy-walsy with McCabe. Then I thought, maybe she’s trying to make me jealous. Newsflash, Fraser. It’s working.’

  ‘I’m not …’ Sara was about to launch a defensive about this supposed relationship with Elliott when Will winked at her.

  ‘So Sara, Sara, Perfume Wearer is a free agent. Game on, I say.’

  ‘What game? What’s got into you tonight?’

  ‘I’m happy, and I thought with two blokes vying for your attention, you might be happy too.’

  ‘Thanks all the same, but I’m not up for grabs. Elliott is a friend.’

  Sara was focused on one game only, the tennis match of her emotions. Wanting Will, not wanting Will. Back and forth, back and forth, until she thought she might actually be sick.

  ‘Friends, eh? If the bloke hasn’t made a move on you already, he really must be an idiot.’

  Sara exploded. ‘Can you please be serious?’ Her hipbone hurt from being scrunched into the wooden arm of the redwood settee and Sara suddenly realised she had distanced herself physically from Will, moving as far from him as possible. Now she had to distance herself emotionally. ‘Listen to me, Will. You don’t want to know every inch of me. What you see is not what you get. Not anymore. You and I are friends. Let’s just leave things as they are.’

  Will looked stunned, hurt even. ‘I don’t understand. What is it? What did I do? If it’s my sucky jokes, then tell me, please.’

  ‘You didn’t do anything, Will.’ Sara’s voice trembled. ‘It’s me. I … I haven’t told you something—the other reason I came back.’

  ‘I kind of hoped I was the other reason.’

  ‘You were, in a way, but not like this. If anything it was … more a goodbye.’

  ‘Goodbye? Are you going somewhere?’ Will hooked a hand under his legs and nudged them one at a time, repositioning himself to better face Sara, confusion crinkling the corners of his eyes, his usual fun-loving grin fading. ‘Look at me, please. Talk to me.’

  Her head hung down, her chin almost resting on her chest, constricting her throat, making it hard to swallow, to breathe, to think, and to say the words bashing against
her better judgement.

  She wasn’t ready to tell Will.

  She didn’t want his sympathy.

  She didn’t want to be that poor Sara Fraser.

  Will didn’t let up. ‘You’re worrying me,’ he said.

  How did she get here? Cosying up with Will Travelli wasn’t on any list. Not a conscious list—maybe on that Post-it Note she had shoved to the very back of her mind with things like: win Lotto, rescue orphaned elephants in Thailand, and discover a chocolate that has better health properties the more you eat. As if any of that was going to happen.

  Elliott’s words the other night came to mind, about it only being a secret until she decided to tell. All through school she’d kept her crush on Will a secret—from him—and that silly crush and secret had kept her distant all these years.

  She was still watching Will Travelli from a distance.

  Then, from out of nowhere, ‘No more secrets,’ she blurted.

  ‘What do you mean, Sara? What secrets? Talk to me.’

  Had she said that aloud?

  The hand he slipped over her knee calmed her racing heart and she lifted her face to Will’s. His expression was evolving—confusion, disquiet, now fear.

  Sara knew fear. For two years it had mushroomed inside her like a toxic fungus. Tonight the infestation was turning her stomach, tightening her throat, choking back her words.

  Do something brave every day, bloody Item 1 on THE LIST dictated.

  ‘Oh, fuck THE LIST!’

  ‘Sara?’

  A self-conscious laugh floated to the surface at the surprise on Will’s face. Shy Sara Fraser had shocked the unshockable jock.

  Now for the rest.

  A deep, deep breath dragged courage up from somewhere and she spilled the words, ‘I have breast cancer, Will.’

  Will blinked for way too many agonising seconds while Sara fought the urge to run. If she had her car keys and bag right now, she could disappear into the pitch black, be in her car and on her way home before Will asked his first question.

  ‘How bad?’ Too late. ‘I mean … Bloody hell, Sara, I’m sorry. That was such a dumb-arse blokey thing to say. Who’s the idiot now?’