thick. I’m hoping freezer burn might only go halfway in or less. I can thaw it in the microwave, chop off the burn and produce steak fit for a king. I hope. Hang on a minute.’
Fascinated, she watched as he grabbed a torch from the pantry and headed for the back door. That was a flaw in this mock play; he shouldn’t have known where a torch was. But in two minutes he was back, brandishing a handful of greens.
‘Chives,’ he said triumphantly and then glanced dubiously at the enormous green fronds. ‘Or they might have been chives some time ago. These guys are mutant onions.’
Clarissa had planted vegetables, she remembered. Their last nanny...
But Rob was taking all her attention. The Rob of now.
She’d expected...
Actually, she hadn’t expected. She’d thought she’d never see this man again. She’d vaguely thought she’d be served with divorce papers at some stage, but she hadn’t had the courage or the impetus to organise it herself. To have him here now, slicing steak, washing dirt from mutant chives, took a bit of getting used to.
‘You do want some?’ he asked and she thought no. And then she thought: when did I last eat?
If he had been a stranger she’d eat with him.
‘Yes, please,’ she said and was inordinately pleased with herself for getting the words out.
So they ate. The condiments in the pantry still seemed fine, though Rob dared to tackle the bottled horseradish and she wasn’t game. He’d fried hunks of bread in the pan juices. They ate steak and chives and fried bread, washed down by mugs of milky tea. All were accompanied by Rob’s small talk. He really did act as if they were strangers, thrust together by chance.
Wasn’t that the truth?
‘So, Julie,’ he said finally, as he washed and she wiped. There was a dishwasher but, as neither intended sticking round past breakfast, it wasn’t worth the effort. ‘If you’re planning on leaving at dawn, what would you like to do now? You were sleeping when I got here?’
‘Trying to sleep.’
‘It doesn’t come on demand,’ he said, and she caught an edge to his voice that said he lay awake, as she did. ‘But you can try. I’ll keep watch.’
‘What—stand sentry in case the fire comes?’
‘Something like that.’
‘It won’t come until morning.’
‘I don’t trust forecasts. I’ll stay on the veranda with the radio. Snooze a little.’
‘I won’t sleep.’
‘So...you want to join me on fire watch?’
‘I...okay.’
‘You might want to put something on besides your nightie.’
‘What’s wrong with the nightie? It’s sensible.’
‘It’s not sensible.’
‘It’s light.’
‘Jules,’ he said, and suddenly there was strain in his voice. ‘Julie. I know we don’t know each other very well. I know we’re practically strangers, but there is only a settee on the veranda, and if you sit there looking like that...’
She caught her breath and the play-acting stopped, just like that. She stared at him in disbelief.
‘You can’t...want me.’
‘I’ve never stopped wanting you,’ he said simply. ‘I’ve tried every way I know, but it’s not working. Just because we destroyed ourselves... Just because we gave away the idea of family for the rest of our lives, it doesn’t stop the wanting. Not everything ended the night our boys died, Julie, though sometimes...often...I wish it had.’
‘You still feel...’
‘I have no idea what I feel,’ he told her. ‘I’ve been trying my best to move on. My shrink says I need to put it all in the background, like a book I can open at leisure and close again when it gets too hard to read. But, for now, all I know is that your nightie is way too skimpy and your eyes are too big and your hair is too tousled and our bed is too close. So I suggest you either head to the bedroom and close the door or go get some clothes on. Because what I want has nothing to do with reality, and everything to do with ghosts. Shrink’s advice or not, I can’t close the book. Go and get dressed, Julie. Please.’
She stared at him for a long moment. Rob. Her husband.
Her ex-husband. Her ex-life.
She’d closed the door on him four years ago. If she was to survive, that door had to stay firmly closed. Behind that door were emotions she couldn’t handle.
She turned away and headed inside. Away from him. Away from the way he tugged her heart.
* * *
He sat out on the veranda, thinking he might have scared her right off. She didn’t emerge.
Well, what was new? He’d watched the way she’d closed down after the boys’ deaths. He was struggling to get free of those emotions but it seemed Julie was holding them close. Behind locked doors.
That was her right.
He sat for an hour and watched the night close in around him. The heat seemed to be getting more oppressive. The smoke hung low over everything, black and thick and stinking of burned forest, threatening enough all by itself, even without flames.
It’s because there’s no wind, he told himself. Without wind, smoke could hang around for weeks. There was no telling how close the fire was. There was no telling what the risks were if the wind got up.
He should leave. He should make Julie leave, but then... But then...
Her decision to come had been hers alone. She had the right to stay. He wasn’t sure what he was protecting, but sitting out on the veranda, with Julie in the house behind him, felt okay. He wasn’t sure why, but he did know that, at some level, the decision to come had been the right one.
Maybe it was stupid, he conceded, but maybe they both needed this night. Maybe they both needed to stand sentinel over a piece of their past that needed to be put aside.
And it really did need to be put aside. He’d watched Julie’s face when he’d confessed that he wanted her and he’d seen the absolute denial. Even if she was ever to want him again, he’d known then that she wouldn’t admit it.
Families were for the past.
He sat on. A light was still on next door. Once he saw a woman walk past the lighted window. Pregnant? Was she keeping the same vigil he was keeping?
If he had kids, he’d have them out of here by now. Hopefully, his neighbour had her car packed and would be gone at dawn, taking her family with her.
Just as he and Julie would be gone at dawn,
