She stuck out her hand, relieved her body parts were capable of moving again, to show Spencer the decades-old injury. She waggled the finger at Indi and Harriet, who knew the story well. ‘See?’
‘Lived experience, huh?’ Spencer winced in sympathy, but she could see the corners of his mouth twitching with amusement.
She laughed too, surprised to see him finally let his guard down.
‘The guinea pig that bit me was a whopper, my parents took a photo of me holding it just moments beforehand, and neither the fingernail nor the fingertip grew back after the scar tissue healed.’
Clementine had been younger than Indi was now when it happened, but the incident had left her set against all rodents. Pets in general, quite possibly.
She pushed her hands into her back pockets and shuddered at the memory. The minute they got home, she’d give the girls a serious talking to.
‘Well, if you’re all sorted here, I’ll be on my way,’ Spencer said, glancing up at the gathering clouds. ‘Shall I return this bag to the boot with the food boxes?’
The catering! Clem blew out a frustrated breath. She still needed to drop off the grazing platters to a client on the other side of town; she’d completely forgotten. She couldn’t, in all good conscience, roll up there knowing there was a guinea pig in the car, and risk the girls letting it loose again. But she didn’t have time to drop the darn thing back at Selina and Fiona’s house, given it was on the opposite side of town.
‘I can’t believe they smuggled a guinea pig into my Jeep. Council’s health inspector would have my licence if she knew.’ She studied Spencer’s soft grey eyes, trying to gauge how much of a stickler for the rules he was. ‘You’re not going to … er, mention it, are you?’
The idea made her feel sick, and even though he shook his head and assured her he wouldn’t, she couldn’t help wonderingabout his moral compass. After all, wasn’t he willingly going into a lion’s den of reality TV, where women were pitted against one another to create drama, and the unscrupulous practice of dating several girls at once was being promoted, all on camera?
She studied Spencer, noticing the salt and pepper flecks in his fair hair, the thick eyebrows and the clipped beard hiding a strong, square jaw. She wouldn’t have picked him as a reality TV junkie.
Movement behind him caught her attention and she turned to see Marco Grubb in his brown Brew Haven uniform. Had he heard her yelling about the guinea pig, or even worse, seen that she had an animal in the same vehicle she was using to transport food?
Two minutes ago, she’d been certain Misty, the sharp-toothed guinea pig of her childhood, was the stuff of nightmares. But with the eagle-eyed Marco nearby, she felt like guinea pigs, both past and present, were the least of her worries.
Clem rushed to shut the boot, relieved that nothing untoward was on display.
Marco made a show of pretending to be friendly, but Clem didn’t trust him. His daughter Pansy bounded over, giving the adults a gap-toothed smile before poking her tongue out at Indi and Harriet. Indi responded by squishing her face against the car window, so her nose was flattened Miss Piggy-style against the glass. Harriet pulled a ghastly face, and they continued trading silly looks until all three girls were in hysterics.
Clem spared a thought for the educators who had to wrangle them during school hours.
‘Shouldn’t be surprised these interviews are running behind schedule, if staff are standing around in the car park chatting. Come on Pansy, time to face the music; let’s see what yourteacher has to say this term,’ Marco said, shooting a narrow look at the Crossley girls. ‘Easily distracted, easily influenced,’ he added grimly. Pansy’s goofy grin vanished.
Clem caught her eye, giving the girl what she hoped was a ‘chin up, you’ll do great’ smile before Pansy turned and trailed behind Marco to the school auditorium.
It felt like every Sunday driver was out and about, determined to do fifteen kilometres below the legal speed limit, as Spencer navigated the road between South Giddi Giddi and the Penwarra tennis courts on a blustery May morning.
Ian had been distracted the whole drive, hardly saying a word, his attention fixed on the paddocks outside the car window.
‘It’s not like they’ll start without us, Ian, don’t stress. And all will be forgiven when we carry Louisa’s banana honey cake into the clubrooms.’
Normally Ian would make a comment comparing the wet roads to the icy Canadian terrain he’d learned to drive on, but today the older man stayed silent.
‘I could’ve found another scorer for tennis today—Mia’s always happy to come for a match or two. That foot of yours aching again?’
Ian shook his head, barely glancing at the metal contraption enclosing his broken foot, or the walking stick he needed even on flat surfaces, like the recently refurbished tennis courts. ‘Mia’s got enough on her plate, especially with that little firecracker Reggie, and another on the way. This ridiculous injury isn’t going to keep me housebound any longer. I’m sick of staring at the same four walls.’
Spencer slowed at an intersection and covertly assessed the man beside him, who had aged years in the short space oftime between his daughter’s terminal diagnosis and her death. Was the stress of the TV show finally rearing its ugly head?
‘Ian, if it’s the show that’s worrying you, it’s probably not too late,’ Spencer said. ‘I’m supposed to fly out tomorrow, and filming starts Monday, but that doesn’t mean I have to get on that plane. Say the word, Ian. If you or Louisa have changed your mind, I’ll pull the pin. Seriously.’
A faded blue tractor chugged along the road, and Spencer went wide as he overtook it, admiring the old-fashioned soil cultivator it towed. The fact that Ian hadn’t commented on the unusual piece of machinery spoke volumes. The silence widened with the gap between the two vehicles.
Paddocks and single-lane limestone tracks soon became sealed roads and row upon row of grapevines, and the puddles petered out as they drew closer to town.
Eventually, Ian shook his head. ‘We’re the ones who urged you to go on that program in the first place, the last thing we’d do is take it back, especially right before you leave. But we know you’re a humble man, and we understand how these shows work. Spencer, when the cameras are rolling, we think it’s a good idea to portray South Giddi Giddi as your farm.’
Spencer reeled. ‘What?’
