‘Take the bean bag and cradle it in the palm of your hand. With your elbows close to your sides and your arms extended at about waist height, toss the ball repeatedly from one hand to the other. Each throw should peak at about eye level, with the throw coming from slightly towards the centre of the body and the catch slightly towards the outside.’
As instructed, I throw my red bean bag with one hand and catch it jerkily in the other.
Nicola, throwing and catching adeptly, rolls her eyes. ‘I thought this was a business skills development class, not a crash course for clowns!’
Jarrod overhears, as Nicola intended him to. ‘This … is to … show us … how learning new skills … can be … fun …’ He says through gritted teeth, his expression not conveying the fun he’s supposed to be experiencing.
The instructor joins in on the conversation. ‘Juggling is not only fun, it’s good for stress relief, problem solving and developing a flexible attitude to work and life in general. It also teaches us how to handle failure – there will be times when you drop the balls in front of an audience and you have to learn how to handle it!’
‘Speaking of balls, why are we using bean bags?’ Nicola asks.
‘Because balls roll when you drop them,’ he replies dryly, ‘which can be very irritating when you’re learning.’
As though on cue, I drop my bean bag. Nicola sniggers and I elbow her in the ribs. She bellows in pretend pain but still doesn’t lose her rhythm: it’s already obvious that she will be the star pupil today.
The instructor stands behind me and takes my hands in his to demonstrate. ‘As you make each catch, let the ball fall into your hand, cushioning its landing, and in the same circular motion send it on its way again. It’s important to get this technique right, as it’s the same technique that’s used for three, four or however many balls you juggle.’
After a few more minutes of practice, we progress to step two of the lesson which involves adding a second bean bag, green this time.
‘Using the same technique we learned in step one, throw one of the balls to the other hand. Now, this is the tricky bit: the hand the ball is heading towards is already occupied, so before we make the catch we must make space for it! Here’s how it’s done. At the point when the first ball reaches its peak and starts its descent, throw the second ball just inside the arc of the first one. You should find that the balls land in your hands one after the other and that they have exchanged places.’
Everyone has a go and red and green bean bags shower the ground amid much laughter.
‘It’s very important that you throw both balls to the same height – this is the most common error.’
Nicola executes it perfectly, a smug grin on her face.
‘Have you done this before?’ I ask suspiciously.
‘No. I’m just good with my hands.’
‘Show-off!’
Zoe is the next to get it right and eventually the whole group has it mastered, even Jarrod – everyone except me. The instructor patiently repeats the steps, telling me that the most important thing is to relax and not to panic so much when the balls are in the air. But no matter how hard I try, my timing isn’t right and the most I can manage are a few erratic exchanges before one or both bean bags plop to the ground. The instructor has no choice but to leave me behind as he moves to the next stage of the lesson.
‘Now, let’s try juggling three balls …’
I continue with two balls while the rest of the group practises with three. ‘I guess there’s a hopeless case in every class,’ I say conversationally to the instructor.
‘Everyone can juggle,’ he assures me, his tone distinctly condescending. ‘And once you learn this skill you’ll also gain the confidence to try other things you thought beyond you.’
Behind his back Nicola sticks out her tongue at me and I feel like giving her another elbow in the ribs. Come to think of it, I wouldn’t mind inflicting some pain on the patronising instructor too!
I’m relieved when the juggling session is over and we sit back at our desks to learn about some real business skills.
I meet Matthew after work and we get takeaway to eat at his house. I’m nervous at the thought of seeing where and how he lives, but excited too. His house is in Elwood, a three-bedroom Edwardian cottage on a street with a friendly feel to it. I’m immediately impressed with the leadlight windows, parquetry floors and high ceilings.
‘This is beautiful,’ I exclaim as he shows me around. ‘It’s got such character.’
Matthew smiles shyly. ‘Well, the kitchen and bathrooms need updating and the walls could do with a lick of paint, but other than that it’s great.’
I look out the kitchen window into the dusk and onto the compact, well-maintained back garden. ‘Do you own it?’
‘No – I rent along with two mates from work. But when I buy a house, hopefully in the next year or so, I want something exactly like this.’
After the tour, we sit outside on the terracotta-tiled patio where he sets us up for dinner, fetching two bottles of ice-cold beer. A citronella lamp flickers on the small wrought-iron table as the last of the daylight eases from the sky.
‘That teenage boy who was attacked – how is he doing now?’ I ask.
Matthew’s face tightens. ‘He had the clot removed along with some of his skull to relieve the pressure. The swelling on his brain is still very prominent and he’s in a critical condition.’
I raise my beer bottle to my lips and take a small sip. It’s been a long time since I last drank beer. It tastes nice, simple and refreshing, rather like how it feels to be here with Matthew at his house. ‘And any luck with finding out who did it?’
‘We have some CCTV footage but it’s not very good quality. We put a plea for witnesses to come forward in last Thursday’s Leader and again today.’
‘How’s his family?’
‘They’re devastated, especially the mother. From what I can tell he was a great kid, good at school and sport, a real allrounder. It’s sickening to see this happen to a perfectly healthy boy who had the best part of his life in front of him.’
Before meeting Matthew, I held the vague assumption that police officers, doctors and other people in confronting professions eventually became hardened to tragedy and wasted lives. I now know how wrong and ignorant such an assumption was. Matthew may well have appeared professional and detached while dealing with the boy’s family, but tonight, out of uniform and with more time to dwell on the injustice and senselessness of the attack, he’s clearly very affected by this case.
I reach for his hand. He interlocks his fingers with mine and takes a long slug of his beer. ‘Enough about me. What did you get up to today?’
‘Errr … I spent a good portion of the day trying to learn how to juggle.’
He grins. ‘Really? What for?’
‘Good question! Apparently, juggling is good for you, and anyone can do it – except me, that is. The instructor had the cheek to insinuate that I’m not open to trying new things. Nicola got it straightaway and thought she was too cool for school. Even Jarrod was better than me! We were meant to be doing a course on business skills and we spent more time on juggling than we did on communication and negotiation. I don’t need to be able to juggle to do my job. It was a ridiculous waste of time and energy.’
‘You’ve convinced me.’ Matthew laughs.
‘I wouldn’t mind, but later on, when the course was over and we were back at work, they were all still at it. Every time I looked up there were bean bags flying in the air. It was so annoying!’
I’m smiling, rather enjoying exaggerating how annoying it was, and Matthew laughs again. An easy silence falls as we finish eating. Then Matthew clears the table.
When he returns from the kitchen, he sits and takes my hand again, his thumb drawing circles on the soft skin of my inner wrist while he uses his other hand to lift his beer to his lips. Suddenly I can’t focus on anything else but that very slight movement of his thumb, and a shiver of excitement runs down my back.
‘Are you cold?’ he asks.
‘No.’ My voice is whispery.
He puts down his beer bottle and I know that he’s going to kiss me. I’ve been waiting for this moment all evening, wondering if it’ll be as good as the last time. It is. Better, even. His lips are less tentative, more confident, as are his hands, which slide across my shoulders to hold me tightly against him. I love the wave effect he creates with his lips – soft, firm, soft again – and the way his hands are now entangled in my hair, pressing me deeper and deeper into the kiss until I lose all sense of time and place.
Afterwards, when I’ve been once again thoroughly kissed by Matthew Blake, he nuzzles my face, his eyes dark in the shadows and showing no hint of their usual brilliant blue. ‘What are you doing over Easter?’ he enquires unexpectedly.
I attempt to straighten my hair, clothes and thoughts all at the same time. ‘Easter?’
‘Easter – you know, Stations of the Cross, egg hunts, bunny ears, coming to town this very weekend …’
‘Ah, that Easter! I’ve nothing definite planned yet.’
Nicola is going away with David, a promising step forward in their relationship, and Jeanie’s going to Sydney again to visit her indomitable family. Her regular family get-togethers never pass off without at least one row and she’s already speculating which sister will start the argument.
‘I’m having lunch on Sunday with Sophie and Ben.’ His breath is warm against my face. It makes me want to kiss him again. ‘Normally we’d go back to the farm at Easter but I’m working on the weekend and Sophie doesn’t want to go home without me. Anyway, this lunch is pretty casual – I’ll just be throwing a few snags on the barbecue – and you’re very welcome to join us.’
‘I don’t know.’ I’m aware that I sound every bit as reluctant as I feel. I’m still only getting used to the idea of this relationship and it doesn’t feel right to draw other people into it just yet. Neither Jeanie nor Nicola knows that Matthew exists; meeting his sister would, in the spirit of fairness, necessitate telling my own friends and family and I’m not ready for that.
‘Just say no if you’re not into it.’ Matthew shrugs, sitting back in his seat and picking up his almost-empty beer bottle. ‘I know it’s early to meet my family – I just thought I’d mention it in case you didn’t have anything to do.’
He sounds quite relaxed about it, as if it’s no big deal, and so it’s easy to be honest with him. ‘Actually, it does feel kind of early. Maybe we could meet for a drink afterwards instead?’
Matthew finishes his beer; I’ve lost interest in mine. After a short, charged silence, it feels perfectly natural to start kissing again. Finding it imperative to get closer to him, I move from my seat to his lap and loop my arms around his neck. I can feel a heightened urgency in his mouth, and I respond accordingly, kissing him rather wildly. Lust washes through my body and I know that my resolve not to rush things is about to be tested. His mouth strays to the curve of my neck, hot against my cool-by-comparison skin, and I tremble in response. It lowers further, to the line of my top. Just as I’m trying to summon the will to stop him, he restlessly moves it again, to my hands, kissing each finger, chaste and yet somehow erotic. But then, suddenly, he stops.
‘Did you cut yourself?’ he asks, examining the small scabs on the tips of my fingers.
I pull away from his scrutiny. ‘I just pricked my hand …’
‘On what?’
‘Can’t remember,’ I lie.
‘Did it hurt?’
‘No.’
Not ready for this conversation and where it will lead, I direct his mouth back to mine and kiss any further questions away. Some indefinable length of time later we’re interrupted by the slam of the screen door and a booming voice. We jump back from each other, as guilty as teenagers caught in the act by parents arriving home unexpectedly; grinning sheepishly, Matthew introduces me to Pete, one of his colleagues and housemates. Unperturbed, Pete sits down and joins us, Matthew procures another round of beers from the fridge, and the three of us talk until I look at my watch and realise how late it is.
‘I’ll call you a taxi,’ Matthew offers. ‘Or I can see if we have a car nearby …’
‘A taxi will do fine, thanks,’ I assure him primly. One ride home in a police car is more than enough to be going with!
Ten minutes later, I’m once again kissing Matthew, this time outside the front of the cottage. ‘Now that I know where you live I can cycle here,’ I murmur.
‘I like that idea.’ He puts on an official voice. ‘Make sure you wear a helmet, madam, and cycle responsibly!’
‘Of course, officer.’
Matthew kisses me one last time. ‘I’ll see you on Sunday.’
‘See you then.’
‘Phone me if you change your mind about lunch. I know you’ll like Sophie and she’ll like you.’ He opens the back door of the taxi and I get inside.
‘Okay,’ I say, but I know that I won’t change my mind.
On Thursday, just in time for Easter, Jarrod announces that Telelink have signed on the dotted line. He delivers the news in a specially convened sales meeting. The rollout will start a month later than planned, commencing in June rather than May, and will run for eight weeks. Jarrod’s very pleased, so pleased that he comes dangerously close to smiling. He hardly looks at me, let alone acknowledges my part in the deal, and I sit through the meeting feeling jealous, indignant and completely invisible.
‘You should have heard him,’ I say crossly to Jeanie later that night. ‘You would swear he had done it all himself.’
‘Well, he was the one who managed to get Derek to sign in the end, wasn’t he?’
‘But I did all the legwork …’
‘Including nearly killing Derek and yourself!’
‘That was as much Derek’s fault as it was mine,’ I retort.
Jeanie isn’t interested in discussing it further; she’s too busy entering contact details into her new phone. ‘What’s your work number again?’ she asks, her forehead creased in concentration.
Obligingly, I reel it off. She then asks for the number of a mutual friend.
‘Thanks.’ She sighs, her shiny new phone held in both hands as she looks across at me. ‘To be honest, I think I’d rather stay here this Easter than going all the way up to Sydney.’
‘You don’t mean that.’
‘I do. I saw them all last week and it feels far too soon to see them again. I’ve been away a lot recently, I’m tired, and spending four consecutive days with my dearest sisters isn’t exactly relaxing.’
‘Your sisters are fabulous!’
‘Fabulous in small doses. Plus, Mum will see that I’m in a mood and she’ll give me a hard time. She always says there’s no room for moods in our house – it’s too packed as it is.’
I chuckle, always enjoying Jeanie’s stories about her family: the quick, fierce arguments, the unpredictability of all those personalities thrown in together, the guaranteed laughter at the end of the day, so unlike my own ordered and painfully measured upbringing.
‘It’s not funny,’ Jeanie says tersely. ‘Honestly, if my airfare wasn’t non-refundable, I’d cancel.’
‘It’ll be fine,’ I assure her. ‘You’ll be glad that you went in the end. Your family is wonderful.’
Jeanie shoots me a dark look. ‘Why do you always think my family is so great? It isn’t, you know.’
I shrug. ‘At least your parents allowed you all to develop your own character.’ I hear the bitterness in my voice, but I can’t manage to temper it. ‘At least they weren’t always trying to mould you into their ideal of a perfect child.’
‘Trust me, my sisters could have done with some moulding!’ she retorts. ‘They ran wild – Mum didn’t know where they were half the time.’
I don’t say anything further. Jeanie is too grumpy to reason with tonight. Instead I scroll down through the contacts in my phone, and helpfully call out some more numbers that she might need.