It was a date. Even Scott had called it that. Lisa had heard him make the booking for seven p.m. at one of Castlemaine’s smartest restaurants, the Public Inn. He was picking her up at 6.45.
But by the time she and Portia arrived back at the manor, her nerves were frazzled. On the road from Castlemaine, she’d had to swerve to avoid a human-sized kangaroo that sprang out in front of the car with supreme nonchalance.
While Portia disappeared into her room, Lisa dashed upstairs. She tore off her funeral clothes, dived into the shower and slipped into her lucky floral dress, over which she threw an aqua shawl. By the time she was spruced up and sitting on the balcony steps it was 6.40. Mojo, his ginger mane still fluffy from his wedding hairdo, sprang onto her lap. He butted his head into the palm of her hand and purred.
A coil of dust made its way along the main road. Her throat turned to parchment as a pair of headlights glided down the driveway.
But it wasn’t Scott’s ute. Ted and James climbed out of the Kombi with Zack and Jake close on their heels.
‘Hey, gorgeous!’ Jake said, lumbering up the steps in his funeral suit. ‘Going somewhere special?’
She tightened the shawl around her shoulders and studied the hills. Zack sprinted past on the way to Portia’s room.
‘There’s lasagne in the fridge!’ she called after him.
Jake shrugged and followed the others inside.
Lisa checked her phone. Five to seven. Scott was bound to arrive any minute. She watched a line of ants crawl out of a crack in the mosaic floor. The next owner would have to fix that.
At 7.15 she dialled his number and was put straight through to his cheerful drawl on voicemail. She pictured wine glasses gleaming at the empty table, a waiter checking his watch.
The ants were smaller and browner than usual. Maybe they belonged to a different colony.
Ten minutes later she sent a text. No reply.
A familiar figure appeared on the balcony. ‘Is this seat taken?’ Jake asked, lowering himself onto the step beside her.
Maybe it was the comforting click of his knee as he sat down, or the fact she was exasperated with Scott, but she was grateful for the ease of her ex-husband’s presence.
‘The boys are hoeing into that lasagne,’ he said, undoing his tie and stowing it in his pocket. ‘You look like you deserve something more upmarket.’
She ran her hand over the arch of Mojo’s spine. Jake was on a charm offensive.
‘What say we head into town?’ he asked, undoing his top button. He always did look good in a plain white shirt.
The Public Inn was bustling, but a spare table for two had miraculously come free because of a no-show. They followed a sunburnt young waiter to an intimate spot in the corner. Lisa snuggled into the padded seat against the wall while Jake took the chair facing her.
‘Best view in the house,’ he said, fixing her with a dazzling smile.
For once Lisa couldn’t think of a smart retort.
‘Great spot here,’ he said, scanning the wine list. ‘What do you say to a little French champagne?’
He hadn’t bought the real stuff for years. ‘I thought you liked prosecco?’
‘I do, but tonight’s got a special feel to it, don’t you think?’
She was tempted but, for all she knew, Jake was expecting to go Dutch.
‘Prosecco’s fine,’ she said.
He didn’t put up a fight. She ordered duck while he went for the usual steak.
‘To us,’ he said, raising his glass and clicking it against hers.
Her attention drifted sideways to the young couple next to them. She couldn’t remember how it felt to be that much in love.
The waiter placed a basket of bread and a dish of olive oil on their table.
‘I was just wondering . . .’ Jake continued. ‘I mean, don’t you miss our old life?’
‘What parts of it?’ She was tempted to ask if he was referring to the cheating, the rejection—or both.
‘Oh I dunno . . . a Broadway show whenever we felt like it, the galleries and the Lincoln Centre . . .’
Something inside her chest softened. Jake still knew exactly where her buttons were located and how to push them. She noticed with approval that his temples were fading back to their natural grey.
‘And our favourite restaurant,’ he said, slipping into nostalgia like a warm bath. ‘You know, the one Anthony Bourdain set up?’
‘Les Halles.’
‘Yeah, that’s it. And we have great friends.’
The bread was too good to resist. She took a slice and tore it apart. It was still warm from the oven. ‘You mean had,’ she said.
Jake refused to rise to the bait. ‘You know, I’ve learnt a lot coming out here,’ he said, dunking his bread thoughtfully.
‘Such as?’
Jake dabbed his lips with a napkin and leaned towards her. ‘There’s nothing like shared history.’
That was her old line. She resisted the urge to giggle. ‘So Belle dumped you.’
Jake sprang backwards and raised his hands in denial. ‘I swear!’
‘Come on. She dumped you.’
The waiter lowered a plate of sweet-smelling duck in front of her.
‘I ended it,’ Jake said, flattening his napkin in his lap. ‘And d’you want to know why?’
The waiter leant forward so as not to miss a word.
‘I never realised what a good marriage we had,’ he said, as the waiter released a confetti of black pepper over his steak.
Corkscrews of steam rose from her plate. She waited for the waiter to leave. ‘Jake, we’re divorced.’
He rested his knife on the side of his plate. ‘There’s not a day goes by I don’t regret what happened, Lisa.’
‘But you left me!’
‘You know how sexually aggressive these younger women are,’ he said, glancing sideways. ‘She chased me.’
Lisa swallowed a gulp of prosecco. ‘You want us to get back together?’ The lines across his forehead had deepened lately. He’d given up on the boyish grin. The new, deflated Jake wasn’t without allure.
‘We can’t just wipe out twenty-three years of marriage,’ he said, fixing her with eyes like melted chocolate.
Lisa took a mouthful of duck. The flavour was edged with spice.
‘My life’s a mess without you,’ he went on. I can’t sleep. I can hardly breathe.’
‘That’s the dust in the air out here.’
He winced as if she’d stabbed him with a needle. ‘Don’t you miss me?’ he asked after a pause.
She glanced around for the waiter. He was safely out of earshot. Somewhere in the background, Diana Krall crooned about having someone under her skin. It was true she did miss Jake, well, aspects of him. He wasn’t a bad man. Besides, he was the only person on earth who claimed to need her. To be needed was something, especially, as Maxine would say, at her age.
‘You know I’ve always loved you,’ he said, cradling her fingers.
Her back straightened against the wall. ‘In the having or desiring way?’ she asked. She waited for him to accuse her of being acidic, but he ignored her tone.
‘Both ways, Lisa,’ he said reaching into the breast pocket of his jacket and retrieving a wad of paper. ‘Two first-class tickets to New York,’ he said, unfolding the airline printout and flattening it on the table. ‘Leaving Friday.’
She was stunned into silence. The trees in Central Park would be turning red and gold about now. Ice skaters would be twirling under the statue at the Rockefeller Centre. The first snowfall would be only weeks away. ‘But the kids . . .’
‘They’re getting on with their own lives. We can come back and visit as often as you like.’
‘And my animals?’
‘We could find a pet-friendly apartment.’
He had to be serious if he was offering to live with a cat and a cockatoo. ‘What about Trumperton Manor?’
‘C’mon, Lisa. You’ve had a hell of a time with that old dump.’
He was right. The house had pushed her to her limits. She’d have to call Beverley and put it on the market soon.
‘I’ll take a year off before I start looking for another job,’ he added. ‘We’ll take that cruise around Norway you’ve always talked about.’
Lisa pictured mountains rising from a fiord, and a steward folding down the sheets on a king-sized bed and placing a chocolate on her pillow.
‘I’ll never let you down again,’ he said, raising her hand and pressing it earnestly to his lips. ‘I worship you, darling. Let’s stop off in Fiji and get married again.’
A shadow reached across the table. The waiter should’ve been trained to be more discreet about eavesdropping on people’s private conversations.
‘Everything’s fine, thanks,’ Jake muttered with a wave.
Except it wasn’t the waiter standing over them to ask how their meals were. It was Scott. Freshly showered in a pale, open-necked shirt, he stared down at them. He was white as shaving cream.
Lisa’s mouth dropped open. Scott turned on his heels. Crashing past tables like some distraught fairytale giant, he lumbered out onto the street.
Lisa disentangled her hand from Jake’s. She stood up and pushed her way past startled diners to the restaurant door. Warm night air stroked her cheeks as she stood at the entrance and scanned the street.
An engine sputtered to life. Scott’s ute pulled out from a parking space. She waved her arms and shouted. The ute’s tail-lights glowed like a pair of dragon’s eyes as Scott roared off into the dark.