Elliott took it from her and reverently placed it on the back of a chair. ‘It was from the last holiday she went on before she died.’
‘Sorry for your loss,’ said Darla, feeling a bit awkward.
‘Thank you,’ said Elliott, adjusting his grip on the chicken.
‘Was it recent? Her dying?’ Why did asking sound so crass?
‘Four months ago.’
‘That’s tough. Did she live with you?’
Elliott looked uncomfortable. ‘This is my childhood home. Since Dad died last year it’s been just me and Mum running the place. With Lee’s help and a lot of sound advice from Horace we’ve muddled through.’
‘Geez, that’s tough, losing your mum and dad so close together; that’s really harsh.’
There was a moment where Elliott looked like grief was weighing him down. His eyes were full of sadness and his lips pressed into a hard line. ‘Thanks. It has been tough.’ He swallowed hard and Darla thought he was going to open up some more but he seemed to perk up and returned to methodically checking everywhere for something to put the chicken in. ‘How about this?’ he asked, pulling a string bag from a drawer.
‘Perfect,’ said Darla.
She quite liked the odd looks she received from some hikers as they bounded past her with a jolly ‘Good morning!’ and did a double take at the head of a chicken sticking out of the string bag as it swung at Darla’s side.
‘And to you,’ she said with a smile.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Ros had had the Sunday from hell. When she got home she decided to have a long soak in the bath in the hope of it easing the tension gripping her shoulders and the troubles that were occupying her mind. She tuned the radio to the classical channel, turned it down low and eased herself into the water. If a little Debussy and Jo Malone couldn’t help her unwind then nothing could.
She let her mind drift off and every time a picture of her mother popped up she mentally rubbed her out like an error on a whiteboard. Ros was almost dropping off when she thought she heard something. She listened but there was nothing. It was probably time she got out anyway.
She wrapped her hair in one towel and another around her body. What she needed now was a cup of camomile tea to finish the calming process. She was drying her ear with the corner of her towel as she exited the bathroom and headed towards the kitchen. After a few strides across the living room, something made her stop and look up.
‘Ros!’ Cameron’s alarmed voice made Ros jump and drop the edge of the towel she’d been holding around herself. Cameron was sitting rather close to a pretty woman. His eyes widened. ‘Towel. Australian outback on show!’ he garbled.
‘Outback?’ queried the woman, turning to Cameron, which gave Ros a chance to cover herself.
‘The bush,’ explained Cameron.
‘Oh, that’s funny,’ said the woman with a giggle. She got to her feet and embraced Ros while she was still trying to get the towel properly around herself. ‘You must be Ros. I’m Gina. I’ve heard so much about you.’
Ros was fixed to the spot. ‘Have you?’ She’d never really cared what people said about her but right at that very moment it seemed incredibly important. She would have liked to find out what Gina had heard but she had the more pressing matter of her virtual nakedness. She hastily readjusted the towel. ‘Pleased to meet you, Gina. I’m afraid I need to get some clothes on.’
‘Of course. Then you must join us. We’re ordering a takeaway.’
Ros realised what they were intently studying was the local Indian menu.
‘Ros will have had a full roast dinner at lunchtime,’ said Cameron. ‘So she probably doesn’t want anything.’
‘I bet you can squeeze in a bhaji though,’ said Gina.
‘Um.’ Ros gripped her towel. It was hard to think about food when there were so many thoughts vying for her attention.
‘Can I get you a drink while you put something on?’ asked Cameron.
Too many questions. ‘I just need to get some underwear on,’ said Ros and she made a dash for the bedroom, very aware that her bottom was in view as she exited. She raced into her room only to walk straight into someone. She squealed in alarm. Cyril toppled backwards and forwards before settling on Ros’s forehead.
‘Are you okay?’ asked a concerned-sounding Cameron from behind her.
‘Why has Cyril taken up residence in my bedroom?’ she asked with the cardboard cyborg still leaning against her forehead because she had no free hands as she was still gripping the towel tightly to her, although she was now even more aware that it only covered her front.
