Seven
Bel opened her eyes as the familiar ding of the daily bridesmaid text sounded—right on cue. With a reluctant sigh she reached over and picked up her phone. ‘Have you stocked the wedding bathroom baskets? I’ve forwarded the list of items needed, please check your email.’
What on God’s green earth was a wedding bathroom basket? She opened Google and searched—sadly this wasn’t the first thing she’d had to look up. Who knew weddings were this bloody complicated to organise? ‘A basket or a box, placed in reception venue bathrooms, full of items to help your guests with any mini emergencies they may have,’ she discovered.
True to her word, Gisele had sent through the list—an enormous list—of suggested items … bobby pins, hand lotion,tweezers, eyedrops, sewing kits, cough drops, indigestion medication, Vaseline, lollipops and Party Feet gel cushions …what the hell?
The group chat was conspicuously quiet, she noticed, and she gave a small grunt of resignation. Clearly,shewas going to be the one running around town today searching for everything on this stupid list.
Bel dragged back her bedcovers and looked over at the new clothes hanging in her wardrobe. She’d allowed Larkin and the girls to talk her into buying them before they’d headed home from Toormanlee, and she reminded herself that she’d promised Larkin to embrace this ‘new Bel’ thing. There were new jeans—tight ones, not the baggy, boyfriend style she usually preferred. Tops that hugged her torso, as opposed to her old loose-fitting ones; cropped jackets, skirts and even a couple of sundresses. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d worn a dress before last night.
After a quick breakfast she grabbed her keys and headed out, determined to get the shopping over and done with as quickly as possible.
She’d already received a few comments about her new hair and the absence of her bulky glasses, and she was expecting a few more. As soon as she entered the chemist she was proved right by a twitter of ‘nice hair’ comments from the girls. But she had underestimated the older locals, who seemed to think their age excused them from the bounds of social politeness. Mrs Fortescue squinted and stared at her for a solid fiveminutes before declaring, ‘I don’t like it! Makes you look all washed out.’ Twenty minutes later, in the bread aisle of the supermarket, Bill Woodstock let her know he thought she looked like ‘one of them Kardashian women’. Bel wondered what was more alarming: his announcement or the fact that he knew who the Kardashians were. And then, minutes later, while she stood in line at the check-out, Carol Connelly, the local CWA vice president, shook her head and tsked something about young women these days and their Botox and implants. By the time Bel had finished checking off the list and headed home, she was feeling drained.
She had only just sunk down on her gran’s comfy floral-patterned sofa when there was a knock at the front door. She considered ignoring it and letting whoever it was believe she wasn’t home, but that was pointless when her car was parked in the driveway. Dragging herself upright, she opened the door to the last person she’d ever expected to find on her doorstep.
‘Dean,’ she said, unable to disguise her surprise.
‘Wow. They weren’t kidding,’ he replied.
‘Pardon?’ Bel asked, frowning at him as he continued to stare.
‘I heard you’d had a bit of work done,’ he said.
What the hell? ‘I had a haircut and I got rid of my glasses. I didn’t exactly go under the knife.’
‘If you believe what everyone else is saying, you’ve undergone radical surgery and lost fifteen kilos.’
‘What?’
‘Wouldn’t say fifteen, but losing the overalls and baggy jeans, I reckon it’d be close to ten maybe,’ he said thoughtfully as he studied her legs in the new jeans.
‘I have not lost any weight, and I’ve definitely not had any surgery,’ she snapped, fighting the urge to shuffle her feet under his scrutiny. ‘What are you doing here? Or have you just swung by to lend your two cents’ worth?’
‘Emma asked me to drop this into you,’ he said, remembering the plastic container under his arm which he now held out to her.
Bel eyed the container she’d used to take the salad to Emma and Craig’s for dinner. ‘Thanks. You didn’t need to drive all the way in here to drop it off, though.’
He shrugged and her gaze went over the blue flannel checked shirt he wore open over a black T-shirt. ‘I was coming into town anyway. I had to, uh, pick up some … groceries and stuff,’ he said vaguely, before clearing his throat.
He seriously acts so weird sometimes.
‘I did take your advice, though,’ he said, shoving his hands into his pockets.
‘My advice?’
‘About joining in. The whole community thing.’
‘Oh. Right.’
‘Dad was a unit commander with the State Emergency Service when I was in high school, so I was a member as a kid, and I’ve done a bit of firefighting in the NorthernTerritory. So I joined the Rural Fire Service and the local SES. Figured that would keep me busy for a while.’
‘I should think so.’ Though she hoped they wouldn’t be having another fire season like the one that had just taken out a number of local properties. ‘That must be pretty special, joining the same unit your dad used to be in.’
He seemed a little surprised by her comment, and Bel briefly wondered if she’d said the wrong thing.
‘Yeah. I guess it is. Most of the older guys worked with him at some stage.’
