A year before the fires
Bec hurried towards the happy Christmas crowd as fast as her heels allowed. She’d been so busy answering Sophie Doherty’s questions about Myrtle that she’d lost track of time. Squinting into the sun, she spotted Adam across the oval, glancing around. He was looking for her and the girls.
‘Sorry, I’m a tiny bit late,’ she said breathlessly, getting the words out before he said them to her.
Adam’s gaze skimmed her appreciatively. ‘I’m never wrong. I said you’d look hot in that dress and you do.’ He cupped the back of her neck and pulled her head in close while his other hand squeezed her arse.
Even before his tongue sloppily claimed her mouth, she tasted the beer. She gave him a quick flick of her own tongue before sliding her mouth away. ‘Adam. G-rated family gathering. Business image.’
‘You’re right.’ He sighed, dropping his hand from her behind, but leaving the other in her hair. ‘But I’m cursed with a beautiful wife. You’re on notice, babe. The moment this fuckin’ carol service is over, that’s exactly what we’re doing.’
Even if he hadn’t said it, Bec knew they’d be having sex. Adam was always horny after events like this. Whether it was because the company was sponsoring the Christmas picnic and parade this year and he’d been enjoying the slaps on the back and multiple thanks from people all evening, or if it was the booze—or something else entirely—she’d learned a long time ago that nights like this were not the evening to have a headache.
He looked over her shoulder. ‘Where are the girls?’
‘Buying an ice cream with the money you gave them. Don’t worry, they’ll be here in a minute.’
He gave her an indulgent look. ‘Relax. We’ve got plenty of time. Where were you?’
‘At the playground. I met Sophie Doherty.’
‘Who?’
‘She’s the wife of that bloke you told me was interested in the Beechside block. She was asking me questions about Myrtle so I didn’t want to rush away.’
‘That block’s starting to cost me money. I hope you sold her on it.’
‘I did my best.’
‘You always try.’
‘Have you had anything to eat? I ordered your favourite chicken salad from Oakvale Park and—’
‘I had a ham—’ He suddenly stilled, his eyes fixed straight ahead. ‘What the hell are the girls wearing?’
She turned, watching their daughters approach them with smiles on their faces and dripping ice-cream cones in their hands. Gracie wore an old pair of shorts and last year’s Christmas T-shirt, which was slightly too small for her. To offset the look, she’d slung a pink tutu around her waist. Ivy sported cut-off jeans and a tank top. Both had runners on their feet.
‘Christ, Bec. They look like they got dressed at the op-shop.’
She laughed. ‘Hardly. They look like every other kid here.’
‘Exactly!’ He shook his head. ‘It’s hardly a recommendation, is it?’
‘Do you remember that article I told you about? The one that said a lot of girls’ clothes prevent them from playing freely? Tonight’s all about fun. Ivy’s been riding her bike with her friends and you know what Gracie’s like. She hangs off every available bar. They couldn’t do any of that in a dress.’
‘There’s no way they’re going up on stage with us looking like that.’
‘Oh. Okay.’
‘Okay?’ His nostrils flared. ‘It’s not anywhere near okay. They’re going up on stage with us as planned and they’re wearing dresses.’
‘I … um … I didn’t bring their dresses.’
His usually warm, dark-chocolate eyes flashed with anger. ‘Are you trying to ruin the business?’
‘No!’ Given everything she did to help promote the company, his words seared like sunburn. ‘That’s not fair. It’s a casual night and—’ She suddenly realised that arguing surrounded by the entire district’s population was unwise. ‘I’m sorry. I should have thought.’
‘Damn straight, you should have thought. You’re the one who just reminded me about business image. We are the family of Petrovic Family Homes. Take the girls home and bring ’em back looking like my daughters instead of someone else’s dirty povvo kids.’
Agitation tumbled her gut. ‘Adam, there’s not enough time—’
‘Listen to me.’ His voice dropped to a low rumble. ‘Go and put them in the dresses you bought for the marketing photos and get them back here on time.’ He turned away from her, greeting his daughters with a hug. ‘Girls, go home with Mummy and put on your dresses so you can come on stage with Daddy.’
Bec put out her hands. ‘Let’s go.’
Gracie pouted. ‘Aww. Do we have to?’
‘Yes.’ Adam smiled but his tone was implacable.
‘But I don’t wan—’
‘Okay, Daddy.’ Ivy glanced quickly between her parents and grabbed her sister’s hand. ‘Race you to the car, Gracie.’
Bec followed the girls, uncertain if she should be grateful to Ivy for making the situation easier or worried about the fact that she had. ‘We have to be quick. Take your shoes and socks off in the car.’
Giving thanks that Myrtle’s police officer was at the oval enjoying the evening, Bec broke the speed limit down Platypus Creek Road, making the five-kilometre journey in record time, only to be left groaning in frustration as the automatic gates Adam had installed opened at a snail’s pace. At the three-quarter mark, she manoeuvred the SUV around the gate, gunned it along the drive and pulled up in a spray of Lilydale topping next to the fountain. Releasing the door locks and deactivating the security system, she yelled, ‘Run.’
Ivy, bless her, quickly and quietly got changed while Bec dealt with a squirming Gracie. In desperation, she finally grabbed a candy cane off the Christmas tree and thrust it at her five-year-old. ‘Suck this and keep still.’
Minutes later, they were back in the car and Bec was blessed by two miracles: no dusk-enticed wildlife crossing the road in front of her and pulling in to the sports ground with three minutes to spare. ‘Okay, girls, hold hands. We’re going straight to the stage truck.’
‘Mummy …’
Bec turned at the worry in Ivy’s voice. ‘What?’
‘You need to put on your lipstick and perfume then fluff your hair.’
Out of the mouth of babes. Bec tugged the rear-view mirror towards her and grabbed her makeup bag out of her voluminous handbag. She quickly set to work to repair the damage the evening’s sun, dust and a dollop of stress had wrought. Concealer and powder were her friends, along with a lipstick pencil in Adam’s favourite shade, Berrilicious. Finally, she finger-styled her hair, blasted it with hairspray and spritzed herself in perfume.
Ivy smiled at her. ‘Daddy will be happy.’
She checked her watch. ‘He will be if we run.’
Despite his medium height, Adam was easy to pick because of his breadth and his distinctive red Petrovic Family Homes polo shirt, which was tucked neatly behind a black leather belt and pressed chinos. His shoes shone. The first time Bec met him, she’d teased him that he was the most neatly dressed builder in the country; even in his work clothes, he managed to stay relatively clean.
Adam was standing next to the stage truck’s stairs and chatting easily with Hugo Lang. Her husband always appeared relaxed in other men’s company but Bec knew it was an act. Adam was extremely competitive and every conversation was either information gathering or a quest in one-upmanship. She doubted Adam thought the dairy farmer was a threat to him in any shape or form but Hugo owned land that Adam considered prime real estate.
Her heart was hammering so she deliberately slowed and took a couple of deep breaths, regaining her composure before approaching the men.
Hugo was handing Adam a box the size of a cigarette packet. ‘Put this in your pocket and when you’re ready to talk, slide this switch.’
‘Too easy.’ Adam noticed Bec and his mouth curved into an endearing smile. He mouthed, ‘Well done,’ and stretched out his hand.
Something tight inside her let go and she slid her hand into his.
‘Hugo, look at my three gorgeous girls. How lucky am I?’
Bec winced at Adam’s insensitivity. Hugo’s ex-wife was a woman kind people called a free spirit and everyone else called a self-centred bitch. For her part, Bec had never worked out if Amber had fallen in love with Hugo or the farm. Either way, for two years, Amber had embraced the bucolic lifestyle and been hell-bent on self-sufficiency. Her one positive contribution to the community was the establishment of Myrtle’s farmers market.
Hugo Lang might be a third-generation dairy farmer but he was very much on the grid. Everyone in town had watched and wondered why and how he’d put up with the stream of hippies who’d accepted Amber’s open invitation to camp on the farm. Before Amber finally ran off to northern New South Wales with a guy from the Bellinger Valley, it was rumoured her mantra of ‘love and acceptance for all’ meant she’d slept with half the footy team.
‘No contest there at all, Adam. Definitely lucky.’ Hugo turned to Bec, bestowing on her the same easy smile he gave everyone. ‘Good to see you, Bec. Merry Christmas.’
Before she could return the greeting, Hugo turned his attention to the girls, squatting down to their level.
‘Is Santa bringing you two coal this year?’
‘No!’ Gracie said indignantly. ‘He’s bringing me a trampoline.’
‘And what about you, Ivy?’
Ivy glanced at Bec and Adam with hope in her eyes. ‘A puppy.’
Bec swallowed, torn between destroying the Santa illusion and heading off Ivy’s disappointment. She’d already lost the puppy argument with Adam. Twice. Experience had taught her that raising it a third time would not be the charm—more likely a hex—and this year, more than anything, she wanted a happy Adam over Christmas. When Adam was relaxed and happy, they were all relaxed and happy. Many would say blessed.
Adam grunted. ‘Santa’s not bringing you a puppy.’
Ivy’s face fell and Hugo rose. ‘Bring the girls out to the farm one day, Adam. They can get their puppy fix there.’
‘Work’s flat out, mate. I’ve got the pub extension and four houses.’
‘Daddy, please!’ Ivy begged.
Bec watched Adam closely, wanting to decline the unexpected invitation, except Hugo had explicitly issued it to Adam. Her husband hated her making any decisions on his behalf but he also hated being put on the spot and both Ivy and Hugo had done exactly that. Then again, Adam loved to be seen as magnanimous. Like so many things with Adam, nothing was predictable—this could go either way.
Adam tickled Ivy under the chin and winked at Bec. ‘If you can convince your mother to overcome her aversion to cows, she can take you.’
Bec shuddered theatrically. ‘There’s no way I’m going if there’s a bull anywhere near me.’
Ivy turned back to Hugo, her features pinched with worry. ‘Is there a bull?’
‘Tell you what, Ivy. If you call me before you come, I promise I’ll put the bull in the back paddock that day.’
‘Yay!’ Ivy looked at Bec with shining eyes. ‘Mummy did you hear that?’
‘Yes, darling,’ she said faintly. Just the idea of visiting the farm threatened to spark a panic attack.
‘Righto, that’s enough,’ Adam said briskly, taking control. ‘Let’s get this show on the road.’
Hugo cut the Christmas music and, with the girls on one side of Adam and Bec on the other, the four of them walked onto the stage.
‘G’day, Myrtle. You totally rocked the Christmas parade this year.’
Cheers and woots soared into the evening air along with applause.
‘I hear the Scouts are in a spot of bother, having lost Santa’s reindeer. If anyone finds Rudolph on their way home tonight, don’t be tempted to make venison sausage but give Syd Lidcombe a call. He’ll come and pick it up. I hope you’ve all managed to drop a gold coin or two into the CFA tins and you’ve got your candles ready to go. I know many of the blokes have done a great job this evening lubricating their voices in preparation for the carols …’
He paused for laughter and the crowd obliged, sending a wave of sound rolling over them. ‘But on a more serious note, Christmas is a time to gather with family and friends and reflect on the year we’ve had. Myrtle’s had an awesome year. Of course, the farmers want more rain and higher prices—don’t we all—but the great thing is, Myrtle’s welcomed twenty-six new families and four businesses, not to mention the expansion of others. Petrovic Family Homes is proud to employ ten Myrtle tradies and subcontract to local businesses. We’re honoured to sponsor tonight’s event. I don’t know about all of you, but I couldn’t achieve half the things I do without the love and support of my family, especially my amazing and talented wife.’
As expected, Adam choose that moment to lean in and kiss Bec full on the mouth, and she played her part. The retro 1950s dress lent itself to a dip and she added a Marilyn Monroe leg pop for extra measure. The crowd, high on the joy of the season and three hours of drinking, cheered wildly. As Adam righted her, Bec glimpsed Hugo giving a thumbs-up sign.
Adam grinned at the appreciative crowd. ‘Merry Christmas, Myrtle. May the New Year be a good one for us all. Now, kiss your family, kick back and enjoy the carols.’
They filed off the stage and the Disgraced Rockers, Myrtle’s resident rock band—average age of fifty-one—opened with the Aussie version of the ‘The Twelve Days Of Christmas’. The Petrovics walked to their picnic blanket and Adam lit the girls’ candles before settling in behind them next to Bec.
‘Great speech,’ she said, squeezing his arm.
‘Yeah. We nailed it. Sorry about before, babe, but you know how important it is to get everything right.’
She knew it well—she just didn’t always pick what constituted ‘right’. ‘I shouldn’t have dropped the ball. It was stupid.’
‘Doesn’t matter. It all worked out in the end.’ He pulled a bottle of Veuve Cliquot from an insulated bag, popped the cork and poured her a glass. ‘Peace offering?’
Whenever he lost his temper, there was always an apology. Always a peace offering. ‘Thank you.’
He flicked his tongue in her ear and murmured, ‘Later, you can thank me properly.’ Then he scooted forward and joined the girls singing, ‘Go Santa Go!’