Page 52 of Special Delivery
James suddenly jerked his head back as though he had whiplash and dropped her hand like it had burned him. The song faded to the finish and a Taylor Swift crowd-pleaser began to blare through the ute speakers. ‘Er, right … thanks,’ James stuttered. He tipped his head and gave an awkward bow, stepping backwards.
Poppy’s head was spinning. The Cruisers and the twirling and that …moment—what the hell had happened? ‘No problem,’ she said, putting her hand to her temple. ‘I think I’m getting too old for that kind of cardio. Or Cruisers. Or both.’
James didn’t laugh—or even smile—as she’d expected him to. He just turned abruptly and stalked back to the ute as if he couldn’t stand to be in her company for a moment longer.
The campfire smoke suddenly tasted bitter in Poppy’s throat. Around her, teenagers stamped their feet in the dust, bellowing an unapologetically tuneless rendition of ‘Shake It Off.’
CHAPTER 23
‘So in summary, you’re not fucked.’ Dani’s voice rang out in Poppy’s AirPods as the paddocks whizzed past outside. ‘You had a fun weekend, did your ten thousand steps, ate some good food, there was a tiny moment of … let’s call itintrigue, in which you did nothing—and I repeatnothing—embarrassing other than a teensy-weensy tongue perve, and then everything after that was fine. So, I repeat: not fucked.’
Poppy groaned into her speedometer. ‘Um, first, can you never saytongue perveagain as though that’s an actual thing? And second, it was not a tongue perve. I just happened to glance in his lower face region. And third, all of this is easy for you to say from your sunshine-y harbourside city, but you have no idea what my weekend was like. Everything at that bloody dam was so full of subtext.’
‘You’re making it sound very dramatic.’
‘It was!’
‘Hon, have you considered that maybe you’re reading into things too much?’
Dani did have a point. It was a point that Poppy had rolled around in her head constantly since she’d left the campfire. She’d been thinking about it when Kate and James cheerfully popped in the next morning, when James offered to check the radiator before she drove home, when he said, ‘See ya later,’ when he could have said, ‘Bye.’ Had she forgotten what friendliness was? Or was this something more?
‘You’ve got a four-month-old, Pops. You have enough excitement in your life already; you don’t need to add another layer of complication.’
‘I know. In between the poo explosions and leaky boobs, it’s one big excitement-fest with me.’
Dani laughed. ‘I’m serious, dude. You’ve got enough on your plate. If this bloke wants to be friendly, let him. If he doesn’t want to be friendly, let him do that too. You don’t need him, so it’s no skin off your back whatever he does.’
‘I hate you being so bloody wise.’
‘I know, my dear, but I hate you for moving away from me, so we’re square. Seriously, though, I have to tell you something important.’
‘Is Nella finally accepting porridge?’
‘Ha, no—’ There was a muffled scratchy sound.
‘What was that, Dan? The reception here is so crap.’
‘It’s Sam’s’—rrrr-rar-rar-rrrr—‘Can you hear me? It’s Sam’s …’Rrrrr-rar.
‘His rum?’
Rar-rrrr.
‘Oh no, I’ve lost you again, Dan.’
Rar-rrrr-rar-rar-rrrr.
‘Sorry, Dan, I think the reception’s dropped out, so I’ll go now, but if you can hear me, I love you. Bye!’
Poppy ended the call and glanced in the rear-vision mirror at her sleeping daughter. Maeve had passed her first teenage babysitting experience with flying colours. (Well, perhaps it was Harper who had passed the test, but there was no harm in taking credit for her daughter’s good behaviour.) Maeve had accepted the bottle, there had been no nappy leakage and she’d obligingly drifted off to sleep with barely a whimper.
When Kate had heard this, she declared it was proof that Poppy deserved the night out. ‘A sign from the universe,’ had been her exact words. Poppy wasn’t keen to burst Kate’s bubble, but she suspected it was more a case of dumb luck. She’d lost confidence in the power of the universe.
It hadn’t always been this way. Once upon a time, when her greatest concern was her daily commute, a deep, unacknowledged part of Poppy had believed in the intrinsic power of balance. Without ever having verbalised it, at a cellular level she believed things would work out. Sometimes, for example, you missed the bus or had to spend the whole journey standing up with an armpit in your face. Other times, you could score a whole seat to yourself and watch a soothing episode of open-heart surgery onGrey’s Anatomy. If you expected life to be pretty good, but also a tiny bit shit (for the sake of equilibrium, and yin and yang, and possibly feng shui), you could lead a fairly comfortable existence.
But then she’d discovered she was pregnant.
In the first few hours after those two lines appeared, everything had absorbed a new level of significance. Cellophane-wrapped flowers for sale at the train station: a sign of new life. Random kids making eye contact on the escalators: attuned to her inherent motherliness. Pigeons stealing hot chips for their babies: the circle of life. Every moment and person around her suddenly feltmeaningful. Until Patrick came home.
