Page 9 of The Side Road
When Leo returned, he grabbed Mia by the arm. ‘Come on, I’ll give you a turn around the dance floor.’
Oliver realised guests were now dancing in the living room. Two older women, supporting each other, floated by. He thought one of them might be Flora, the troublemaker.
‘I can only do a waltz,’ Mia confessed. ‘One, two, three. Forward, side-together. Forward, side-together,’ she said.
Leo swept her away into the living room. ‘Boom, tick, tick. Boom, tick, tick.’ After fifty years of dancing, his muscle memory was automatic. The man was a natural.
Oliver watched as Leo glided, and Mia counted the beats under her breath. Once or twice, she caught his eye and immediately looked away. She stood out like a daisy in a fieldof pinecones. Again, he felt a strange combination of elation and terror. Behind him in the kitchen, he overheard someone telling a joke about a woman who had a smoking hot body at a cremation. Everyone laughed. Horrified, he turned away. He needed to check on Tash.
He found her on the sofa, asleep. Her arms wrapped tightly around the neck of a black Labrador. A dog lover, he wandered over to introduce himself. After perching on the edge of the coffee table, he patted the dog under the chin. With big, glassy eyes, the animal looked up at him – it had resigned itself to being used as a comforter.
‘I know,’ Oliver said, ‘but you’re a good dog.’
Beside him on the coffee table was a plate of half-eaten cakes, which Tash had been devouring. Oliver broke off a small piece and fed the dog. It almost took off his hand.
He went back to the kitchen, where Blanche was rinsing glasses and Leo was drying.
‘A wonderful show of cakes,’ Blanche said. She wanted to know what to keep. Several of the cream-based slices were already a few days old and wouldn’t make it through the next twenty-four hours. Oliver sympathised; the last few days had been rough on everyone. He suggested she use her best judgement. She handed him the trash to take out.
Outside, he spied Mia on the veranda. She was staring up at the night sky, looking at the stars. As he approached, she asked him if he was having a good time, her manner so formal he wondered if she went to some sort of finishing school.
In no rush to return to the ruckus inside the house, he decided to linger and leaned against the railing. ‘Earlier, I met a woman whose mother’s mother once held hands with the queen.’
‘Ah, I know that woman. She’s in my Sit & Knit group. Be careful, she’s a terrible gossip.’
Oliver smiled. ‘I’d be having a better time if I knew more about you. What the fuck are you doing here?’
‘Avoiding the dancing.’ A serious look crossed her face. ‘Especially Arthur. He’s a bit handsy. He also keeps sweets in his pocket.’
It was an alarming thought – a handsy old man with sweets – but Oliver didn’t want to talk about Arthur. ‘I mean here…in Eagle Nest. This town has one hundred and thirty-eight heritage-listed buildings and a population of nine hundred people. Half of them are inside. Why are you here?’
‘Only nine hundred? It feels like more,’ she mused. ‘I live up there.’ She pointed south to a spot on the hill across the river. ‘In the old convent. You can see my house from here, except it’s dark, so you can’t see it right now. But it’s there.’
Oliver followed her gaze. ‘You live in the old convent?’
‘I do. But I’m not a nun.’
It was good to get that out of the way.
‘In the same way that you’re not a priest,’ she added. He was nothing like a priest.
After stepping back, he looked her over again. She lived here. In his hometown. Up on the hill. He wondered what stories had brought her all the way out to Eagle Nest. Surely, she hadn’t retired.
‘I’m sorry about this, but I need to fix your jacket,’ she said, stepping closer.
‘My jacket …’
‘Yes. The collar is tucked under at the back. I’ve been wanting to fix it all night.’ Her hands reached for his neckline, and she untucked his jacket. Her face was so close he could feel her breath on his skin. She smelled verdant and fresh, like supercharged citrus.
‘Much better,’ she said, pleased with herself.
Moonlight poured down upon them. In the distance, the dark outline of the neighbouring houses and trees was clear and crisp. It was a windless night; the stillness of the evening felt extraordinary. Music crooned from inside – an old Frank Sinatra tune – and he felt an astonishing connection to the world. A part of the Earth. A part of her. If he didn’t want her to leave, he would have to start a conversation.
‘I have to ask, what’s wrong with Cousin Casey?’
‘She voted no in the gay marriage referendum. She also talks down to people and drives a Jaguar, which Leo objects to. He tells me they’re unreliable.’
‘He has a point.’
