A Bush Christmas (9 page)

The pup was gorgeous, a black and white Border Collie with white socks, a funny little fellow with attitude. Stirling loved him. And so did Jaime.

Over the past few days she'd spent hours out in the garden with him gambling at her heels. The pup would dash off amongst the shrubbery to find something interesting, come running back to jump up and check out the next weed Jaime threw into the wheelbarrow.

‘Buster, get out of that,' became her catchcry.

She had quizzed Stirling on why he'd called him Buster too. ‘But I always call my dogs Buster. Why call up one dog when you can call two?'

That had shut her up. It made sense on one level but …

‘You-hoo! Anybody out there?'

Jaime was crouched in the kitchen garden beyond a picket fence so whoever the visitor was they couldn't see her.

She bounced up. ‘I'm here!'

Irene clutched her chest. ‘Oh
my!
You gave me a fright.'

Having run around the long way at the sound of a stranger's voice, Buster the Pup appeared beside Irene. He jumped up to claw at her stockings in an attempt to say hello.

‘Down, doggy,
down!
' The woman's look was one of disgust.

Obviously Irene wasn't fond of dogs. Jaime wished she'd known that before she'd been inveigled into making sponges. Or at least before Stirling made the sponges.

‘Just making sure you are coming tonight, Jaime. And, well, that you managed okay with those cakes?'

The woman's tone was just a little too supercilious for Jaime's liking. ‘The cakes are all creamed and waiting in the fridge for collection,' she said, at the same time uncharitably wondering what Irene's bauble earrings would look like if they were shoved up her nose.

‘Fabulous. I was just worried we were being a bit … well, pushy, the other day?'

Pushy? Try full-on aggressive. ‘No, not at all, but unfortunately I won't be able to make it to the function.' Jaime tried to look suitably contrite. It was a bit hard as Buster was now tugging backwards at Irene's skirt like he was saying,
leave, leave, leave!
Jaime concurred wholeheartedly.

‘Why on earth not?' Irene was shocked. ‘Everyone goes to the Christmas Tree!'

Jaime winced. All the more reason for her not to. ‘I can't get there. Valerie's vehicle is at the garage getting fixed.'

‘Oh, is that all?' Irene smiled in relief. ‘Stirling's coming, he'll give you a ride.'

‘I'll give who a ride where?' Stirling McEvoy was coming up the garden path. ‘Buster! Get down!'

The pup slunk away chastised and Jaime sighed with disappointment. She was rather enjoying watching Irene's hem come down in shreds.

‘Jaime here says she's not coming to the Christmas Tree! But you can bring her, can't you?'

Stilring glanced over at Jaime with a wicked gleam in his eyes. ‘Absolutely.'

Irene spun back to Jaime, clapping her hands. ‘See? No problem. I'll just collect those cakes. No need for you to come in. I'll grab them myself and we'll see you down at the Gap at seven o'clock tonight.'

Jaime ducked her head. But not before she shot Stirling a look loaded with fury.

 

What did one wear to a public function in the bush? Jaime discarded one outfit after the other. She had already thrown to the side anything that was coloured red, green, gold or silver. And, come to think of it, blue and purple had Christmas connotations too. Those options went into the ‘No' pile as well.

She wasn't left with much. Black, black and more black. Melbournians had a love affair with black and Jaime was no exception. Plus, it was always a
safe
option. So she picked out a few bits and pieces, tried them on. Was surprised at the way they fitted. She seemed to have lost a little weight. It must have been all the gardening and fresh mountain air. That and the lack of cappuccinos, lattes and other sumptuous snacks.

And then finally she was ready.

 

The look on Stirling's face was worth the effort of styling her long hair, donning make-up and generally making an effort to tidy herself up.

He was sitting on his V-Max, two helmets on his lap, when she sashayed down the path. His eyes widened and then focused long and hard on her legs as the mini-skirt she wore wriggled up a little higher. She tried to pull it back down to no avail. Her high heels weren't helping either.

As she moved closer and closer, she watched as his look darkened and lifted to her top, a plunging, ruffled little black number that barely covered her midriff. Her
belly ring sparkled along with a single diamanté necklace and long dangly earrings. She looked hot and she knew it.

‘Ummm …' Stirling cleared his throat, tried to drag his eyes off her belly button where a tiny zircon screamed hello. ‘I, um, didn't think,' he flapped his hands around, indicating the bike. ‘I should've borrowed Ryan's Cruiser again.'

‘It's fine,' said Jaime. She was primed with two glasses of wine. She'd justified them on the basis she was going to a
function
. A local BBQ that had nothing whatsoever to do with Christmas. The world was cool, she was happy, feeling good about herself and in control. Nothing could touch her. Least of all the little problem of riding a motorbike in a mini-skirt, high heels and a helmet destined to cause bad-arse hair.

Spread-eagled on a motorbike wasn't exactly the most comfortable position, but then again, it slammed some of her more intimate parts against Stirling's hunky body. Parts of her she thought had gone into forced hibernation now hummed with suppressed energy and yelled their heads off: ‘More. Give me more!'

It was almost a relief when they finally rumbled into the Gap.

Pulling off her helmet and shaking out her long blonde hair, she was aware of at least a dozen male eyes on her as they dismounted in front of the local hall.

Stirling's expression was inscrutable. She'd guessed this was a man who preferred to travel incognito and slip in amongst the crowd. Judging by his response to the men ogling her, she knew she was right.

‘Hi, fellas,' she called.

‘And you must be Jaime,' said a deep voice. It appeared to have come from a solid, heavy-set person approaching on her right. With a square head, short haircut
and squinty eyes, the woman (well, Jaime
thought
she was a woman) was grimacing. ‘I'm Jean. Bluey from the pub's Jean. I believe you have my overalls?'

And she hadn't given them back yet. Ryan still had them.

Jean pulled a face and appeared to be shaping up to her.

Oh my God. She didn't stand a chance. This woman looked
mean.

‘Hope you liked my decorations,' Jean laughed. ‘The kids had a ball with the ones on the back. They're a bit embarrassing but, hey, kids will be kids.' The woman gestured to a tribe of children playing chasey around the hall.

Jaime's fluttering fingers stilled. Jean's grimace was a
smile
! Oh my Lord, and Jaime thought …

‘You want a drink, Princess?' Stirling was at her elbow with a glass of wine. Even though Jaime knew she didn't need it, she took the glass in desperate relief and knocked it back.

‘Thirsty girl,' commented Jean. ‘I think she needs another one, Stirling.'

The man raised an eyebrow in question. Jaime nodded. She could see acres of tinsel inside that hall; she was going to need every bit of Dutch courage she could get.

As the night went on, the kids got louder and louder, especially after Santa arrived on the back of the fire truck to give out a sackload of toys. Half-cooked sausages got eaten, the drinks went down with unfailing regularity and the Polly's Plains sponges garnered rave reviews from Irene, Susan and Sharyn.

The downside to it all was Jaime was a tad tipsy again, which was the only way she would cope with all the baubles (handmade of course), paper chains, tinsel, flashing lights and carol singing that was going on inside the hall.

Not to mention Santa himself, who'd tried to sit on her knee and kiss her. She had a sneaking suspicion it was Ryan wearing that suit. His saucy wink behind the
beard and glasses only made her more certain, which was a shame because the attractive brunette backpacker who'd arrived on his arm seemed a nice girl.

‘Time to go, Princess.' Stirling interrupted her thoughts. ‘I've got to be up early tomorrow so I can do my work then set up down at the river for Sunday. The whole community comes to Polly's Plains for a communal Christmas lunch.' The Christmas shin-dig was at Polly's Plains? That was going to make it a bit difficult to ignore the whole festive thing. On the bright side though, that meant tomorrow was Christmas Eve. Which meant after Sunday all this ridiculous
nonsense
would be over! Awesome!

Jaime went to stand up from her spot by the fire drum (it was as far away as she could get from the hall). She stumbled. Stirling went to catch her but she saved herself in the nick of time. Stood up. Straightened her top, pulled on her skirt (which did no good) and balanced precariously on her heels. It was just as well the rest of the crowd were inside, singing along to Irene thumping on the piano.

‘I think I'll walk,' she said. ‘Get a bit of fresh air.'

‘You can't walk all the way to Polly's Plains. Not in that get up and definitely not in those shoes.'

‘What's wrong with my shoes?' Her voice was belligerent. ‘I'll have you know these are Jimmy Choos and they cost a fucking fortune!'

‘They could be Princess Mary's for all I care. You can't walk in those heels. You'll kill yourself, or at least do some injury to a passing possum with the heels when you throw them away.'

‘I don't like your tone, Mr Marble Man.'

‘Mr
what
?'

‘You heard me. Mr
Marble Man
. That's what I call you behind your back. You go like this …' she pulled a straight, stone-cold face, ‘… all the time.'

‘I do not!'

‘Do too!'

‘Look, I am not standing here arguing like a child. Are you getting on my bike voluntarily or do I have to pick you up and put you there myself?'

‘I'm walking,' she said as she started to move off.

She heard a sigh and then found herself being hoisted into the air.

‘Way to go, Stirling!' shouted Jean, who was coming out the hall door. ‘I wish Bluey'd try that caveman stuff on me!'

Jaime was too busy belting the back of the man who held her in an iron grasp to reply. ‘Put me down, you … you … Neanderthal!'

‘Gladly,' said Stirling as he dumped her on the bike and handed her a helmet. ‘Here, put this on and don't be sick in it or else.'

‘Or else what?' she goaded.

His expression darkened as he took in her rumpled state. His flinty blue eyes raked her tiny skirt, incy-wincy top and spread legs. ‘You don't want to know.'

She got off the bike and pushed the helmet into Stirling's chest. Be damned if he was going to dictate to her. And she wanted to walk this alcohol off. Correction, she
needed
to walk it off.

Jaime started to totter down the road. It only took about twenty metres before she knew the Jimmy Choos had to go. Pulling them off, she suppressed the desire to throw them away, just because Stirling said she would and – damn it! – they'd been so expensive. She slung them over her shoulder instead. The moon was out, giving her some light, and if she kept to the tar, hopefully her feet would stand up to the trek.

A V-Max blasted past and soon all that was left of Stirling McEvoy was the scent of a hot exhaust and a puff of road dust.

 

Fifteen minutes later she was slowing down and wishing she hadn't been so hasty in pissing Stirling right off. Sure, her mind was bit clearer but her feet were a shredded mess. And in her drunken bravado she had forgotten she was afraid of the dark. She sat down on a nearby stump and wished with all heart she was somewhere else. Like Cairns, Daydream Island, or at this stage even Foster or Cowes would do.

A distant rumble caught her ears. She perked up at thought of someone coming until she saw the V-Max appear around the bend again.

‘Damn,' she mumbled. Stirling McEvoy always managed to see her at her worst.

The man pulled up beside her. ‘Want these, Princess?' he said, holding out her Colorado boots in one hand, a pair of socks in the other.

Why did he have to be so flaming considerate? Just when she wanted to hate him. ‘Thanks,' she said but didn't do anything about putting them on. Just sat and looked at the boots. They also reminded her of her dad. He'd had lace-up boots to go fishing in.

‘You still drunk?' asked Stirling.

‘I am
not
drunk. A bit tipsy but that's not pissed.'

‘Mmm …'

Oh God, there he went again.

‘Well, you'd be too if you had to put up with all that
Christmas
stuff!'

‘And your point is?'

‘I don't like it!'

‘Well, hello there, Jaime Hanrahan, but it
is
Christmas. And just because
you
don't want to celebrate, doesn't mean the rest of us have to suffer.'

‘I never said you had to suffer!'

‘Mmm …'

‘Oh, for fuck's sake, you'd be like this too if you lost your father at Christmas!'

And Jaime started to cry. Howl really loudly. It was embarrassing but she couldn't help it. The tears poured out of her like they were a dam breaching its wall. She couldn't have stopped them even if she had wanted to.

She didn't care anymore if this man saw another of her disgraces. After all, he'd witnessed everything else stupid she'd done in the last few weeks. What was one more? And this wasn't stupid. This was real. A grief she had never allowed herself to indulge in, to let fly into the wind and set free.