“Not the usual sort of Saturday morning in Wattle Vale?” Gwen teased.
“Not at all. The only whales we see are in the swimming pool,” she joked. Then blinked at herself. How cruel did she sound?Lord, I’m sorry.
But Gwen was chuckling softly. “It seems our sweet EJ has a wicked tongue.”
“I didn’t mean to sound quite like that,” she said quickly.
“Don’t apologise. We like seeing you with a little bit of salt and spice, not just sugary sweetness.”
Misgiving panged. Had she come across as too nice? A pushover? Was that why she was here?
Gwen laughed again. “I see you don’t like that description either.”
“What’s all this laughter between my two best girls?” Eric said, drawing near, then placing his arms over their shoulders.
“We’re just enjoying ourselves, aren’t we, EJ?” Gwen said.
EJ nodded, the weight of his arm heavy. Then he kissed Gwen’s cheek then hers, and everything seemed to tingle.
“I’m glad. People who work hard should play hard, am I right?”
She nodded. “Yep.”
Eric bent closer to her. “We’ll have to do something like this for your birthday soon, won’t we?”
She smiled up at him. “Can you top this?”
His eyes danced at hers. “Oh, EJ, you’ve not seen anything yet.”
Chapter 16
Sydney’s urban sprawl stretched further these days. Once upon a time, there’d been green paddocks here, where the tiny airport that hosted Sydney Skydiving was perched beside the Hume Highway, a highway that headed all the way to Melbourne. These days it was surrounded by street after street of grey-roofed houses with tiny yards and depressing uniformity. Sure, it might be what the owners could afford, but Jordan was glad to have grown up in an area that showcased bigger yards and more interesting architecture.
He had been tempted to take the train before realising that this was a perfect opportunity to move more of his stuff back home before he had to move out of the share house for good next weekend when James and Rachael returned from their honeymoon. So his car was packed with furniture and bits and bobs, as his mum might say, many of those household items she’d given him when he’d first moved out all those years ago.
It would be funny living on the farm again. But given the changes in technology and Dean’s permission for him to work from home, it made sense to stay there. Dad was getting on and could probably do with another pair of hands around the farm.Dad employed a few people, but it wasn’t the same as having someone who lived on-site.
He passed along Pheasants Nest Bridge, another of the long concrete bridges that stretched over the snaking Nepean River. To the left was dense bushland and dams that helped supply Sydney’s water. To the right was a scattering of tiny villages where people had long ago carved out settlements now surrounded by more state conservation area that saw bushfires break out every ten or so years.
The highway inclined as he ascended into the Highlands, closer to home. He’d miss the first two exits that led to the area’s major towns and keep chugging on to one of the minor side roads that led to some of the larger farms in the area. Farms that had been in families for generations. In rainy weather, it wasn’t always possible to travel this way, given the creek that crossed the road and made him grateful for his vehicle’s four-wheel-drive capability. But this approach to home was far more restful than seeing how the towns had changed, with yet more great tracts of housing that seemed plonked down without much consideration for the locals. Where were all these new people supposed to shop or go to school? Where were the roads and other infrastructure to support thousands of new homes?
Still, he knew he sounded too much like his parents if he dwelt on such things for too long, so he turned his thoughts towards more pleasant things. Like the fact that it was a long weekend and he could finally take some time off from work.
He turned into Highbury Drive, between two giant oaks displaying the last of their scarlet leaves, and drove the half kilometre along the dirt road to park outside the sandstone garage that had once been the colonial-era settlers’ house. Bella, their terrier, zipped around the corner, her bark holding a savagery unappreciated by the mailman. Then she recognisedhim and joyfully leaped up onto his jeans, begging for a head rub.
“Hello, girl. It’s good to see you.”
“You’re here at last!” Mum came out, drying her hands on a tea towel. He’d bet she’d been making scones. It was her usual go-to whenever he came home.
“Hey, Mum.” He squeezed her.
“Oh, it’s good to see you.” She patted his cheek. “You look tired, Son.”
“Thanks.”
She swatted him. “You know what I mean. Have they been working you too hard?”
“Hard, but not too hard. It’s been okay.” It’d been great, actually, to have something to distract him from the other thoughts that clattered through his brain. The ones that, despite his prayers, had continued to peck and claw at his peace of mind.
