Anybody But Him (7 page)

Nicola opened the back door on Saturday morning, resigned to the knowledge that on the other side she would find Blair Morrissey. At least she was dressed this time.

‘Morning!'

‘So much for your agreement.'

‘What agreement?'

‘To only come round while I was at work.'

‘Sorry, couldn't. I've been away again.'

‘Again? What do you do with the dog when you go away?'

‘He comes with me. Shall I put these on the table?' He nodded at the box in his arms. ‘It's kind of heavy this week. And,' he said, delving into the box once he'd put it down, ‘I've brought you some fresh eggs from Mrs Thompson's hens so you can have breakfast before you go out.'

‘Why?'

He frowned as he held out the egg carton. ‘Why what?'

‘Why would you do that for me?'

He shrugged. ‘I'll take them away if you don't want them.'

‘No,' she said quickly as her stomach rumbled, then added, ‘What do I owe you?'

He shook his head. ‘Nothing, but you can make me breakfast if you like. I need to do some work out there today.' He nodded through the back door that she was still holding open. ‘And I left home without eating.'

‘You have to do it today?'

‘Well, yes, because I'll be off again on Monday, and I need to gather plenty of the leafy greens before they bolt to seed.'

She gave him a blank look.

‘Plus, I need to start preparing some ground for planting or there will be nothing to pick in summer.'

‘And that's a problem?'

‘Yes. Una will be back then, won't she? She'll be disappointed if there's nothing to harvest.'

‘Neither of you have heard of supermarkets?' she muttered as she closed the door. An indignant yap stopped her at the last moment. She opened the door a little way and looked down at Dammit. He stared back at her. After a while, she sighed. How ridiculous was this? She was having a stand-off with a dog, for pity's sake. She swung the door fully open.

‘All right. Come on in.' As she turned from the door she caught Blair's amused expression before he straightened his face. ‘Are you expecting me to make a frittata for breakfast?'

‘That would be great. Thanks for offering.'

‘I didn't. You presumed on my good nature.'

He laughed. ‘Your
what
? Where have you been hiding
that
?'

She stalked past him to the shelf on the far wall. Una had several recipe books stacked there and she took one down, flipped to the index, scanned it and returned the book to the
shelf. She reached for another one.

‘What are you doing?'

She jumped and snatched her hand back. ‘Don't creep up on me like that.'

‘Sorry.' He reached over her shoulder, took down the book she'd been reaching for, and handed it to her. ‘Are you looking for a frittata recipe?'

‘Well, duh.' That, and trying not to notice how close he was.

‘Do you want me to show you how to make it?'

She swallowed. ‘I thought you had work to do.'

‘I do, but it won't take long to show you.'

‘All right, then. I don't cook, you see.'

‘Cooking is easy.'

‘I didn't say I
couldn't
cook. Of course I could if I wanted to, I said I don't.'

‘Right. Well, all you do is chop the vegetables, fry them in a pan, beat the eggs with a little milk, pour the eggs over the vegetables and let it cook until it's nearly set. Then you sprinkle cheese on the top and stick the pan under the grill till it's puffed up and golden.'

‘Sounds easy.' And listening to him had made her mouth water. Because she was hungry, not because he was so close she could feel his breath on her shoulder as he talked. She walked over to the box of vegetables and peered inside. ‘What shall I use?'

‘Zucchini, spinach, onion. You can pretty much take your pick.'

‘What's this?' She held up a bunch of leaves.

‘Spinach.' Blair hesitated, looking as if he couldn't quite believe she'd asked. ‘Maybe I'd better stay and help?'

She shrugged. ‘That's up to you.'

‘Okay.' He joined her at the table. ‘What about I chop the vegetables and you beat the eggs?'

‘Fine.' Eggs she could handle. She knew what they looked like.

Five minutes later, as she attempted to fish yet another piece of shell out of the bowl, she decided that she'd got the short straw. Blair seemed to have received full cooperation from the vegetables, and already had olive oil heating up in the frying pan.

He caught her watching him, and smiled. ‘Nearly done?'

‘Sure. Nearly.' To distract him from the fact that she'd pushed her thumb through yet another egg she said, ‘So, why do you go away from home so much?'

‘I don't normally, but recently I've been working on a portrait commission in Sydney. The client lives there, and for various reasons we've decided that it's easier for me to work at her house. She puts us up from Monday to Thursday, and on Friday evening we drive home.'

‘Us?'

‘Dammit and me.'

‘Oh, right.' She glanced at the dog. He was sitting in the corner of the room watching them so intently that she felt sure if either of them dropped any food, it wouldn't reach the floor.

‘How much longer will the portrait take?'

‘Only a couple of weeks.'

He turned his back on her to add the vegetables to the pan and she took the opportunity to fish out the last of the shell before beating the eggs with a balloon whisk she'd found in the drawer.

‘So, you and Una …' he said, looking over his shoulder. ‘What's the story?'

Story?
She stopped whisking. ‘We're sisters. We're closely related. We've known each other for a long time.' She shrugged.

‘I mean, you're very different, yet you both had the same upbringing.'

‘You mean, she's nice?'

‘She is, actually. She's great.'

‘Mm. I don't know why. I guess she must have read the how-to guide. Must have been in an email I didn't get. So, how long have you been friends?'

‘Ages.'

‘Really? And yet you didn't like either of us in high school.'

Still holding the spatula, he turned and leaned back against the kitchen bench. ‘What makes you say that?'

‘Oh, please. You always had something derogatory to say about the Doyles.'

‘I did?'

‘Come on, don't pretend you've forgotten.' She picked up the bowl of beaten eggs. ‘Ready for these?'

He nodded. ‘Tip them into the pan.'

She did as he said.

‘I remember that Una was in the year above me, so I didn't have a great deal to do with her. And you were in the year below– that much, I remember very well.'

Her hand jerked and the last of the egg landed on the top of the stove.
Damn
.

After a silence, he said, ‘Do you have any cheese?'

‘Yes.'

‘Well, all you need to do now is grate some and sprinkle it on before you put it under the grill. I'll leave you to it and head outside to make a start, if that's okay. I'd switch the grill on to warm now if I were you.'

‘Got it.'

While the grill was warming, she grated the cheese that was left over from the cheese and biscuits snack she usually ate in the evening in place of dinner. She topped the eggs with it, then transferred the pan to the grill.

She cleared the junk off the table and set it for the two of them, which felt very strange. She boiled the kettle, and only checked on the progress under the grill a couple – well, six or so – times. She'd bought a small coffee plunger which she filled for herself, and she made tea for Blair. She switched off the grill and moved the pan to the bottom of the oven to keep warm.

When she went out into the garden, Dammit ran along the path to meet her, circled her twice, then trotted ahead as she made her way towards Blair. Apparently unaware of her approach, he continued digging with his back to her and his T-shirt off, while she stood on the path, staring. Dammit sat next to her, also staring at Blair, but unlike her, the dog was probably thinking sensible thoughts like:
Feed me. Throw me a ball. Feed me
.

‘If you're going to just stand there, you could at least stick your arms out and make like a scarecrow.'

Startled, she said, ‘Hilarious. I'm laughing on the inside.'

Actually, she was doing a lot more than that on the inside. She was melting. Her insides were turning to liquid, triggered by the sight of his muscular back, bending and straightening.

What was she doing?
For a moment there she'd been transported back to her school days when she'd dissolved into a puddle of longing at the sight of Blair playing sport. Any sport, she hadn't been fussy.

A natural, primal reaction, she told herself. Researchers who had nothing better to do had spent thousands of dollars on studies that showed women were physically attracted to men who looked like they had good hunter DNA. And undeniably, he had it. Didn't mean he was right for her, and without a doubt, he wasn't.

‘Breakfast's ready.'

He turned. ‘You don't mind if I spend the whole morning here, do you? I have a lot more to do yet.'

‘Suit yourself.'

‘You can help if you like.'

‘I can't. I'm waiting for a plumber, then I'm going out.'

He strode to the path and stomped on the concrete to loosen the dirt from his boots. ‘Why do you need a plumber?'

‘The pipes are leaking inside the bathroom wall.' She headed for the house.

‘Una never mentioned it,' he said from close behind her.

‘Well, she wouldn't have, because I only noticed it yesterday. She did warn me that the plumbing was dodgy, though.'

‘How do you know there's a leak?'

‘There's a knocking noise inside the wall behind the shower.'

‘I'll take a look.'

‘No, thanks.' She pushed open the back door and Dammit darted passed her into the kitchen. ‘I already called a plumber.'

‘And I'm not saying that you don't need one, but I have to wash my hands anyway. I might as well see if there's any visible sign of a leak.'

He went off to the bathroom and with a shake of her head she turned towards the table, which was when she noticed Dammit giving her an eloquent look. Apparently she was supposed to feed him as well as his owner. What did dogs eat, anyway?

She was sorting through Una's cupboard, looking for a suitable dish to use for a dog when Blair returned to the kitchen.

‘I've found your leak.'

She could hear the laughter in his voice before she turned round and saw his twinkling eyes. ‘That was quick.'

‘Yes, I'm a fast worker.' He smiled.

‘I don't understand what's amusing you. Is it going to be expensive to fix?'

He shook his head. ‘Nope. I've fixed it already.'

She frowned. ‘How?'

He held up something white and plastic.

‘Hey! That's my shaver. What are you doing with it?'

‘This …' he turned it over as if it were an archaeological exhibit, ‘… is your leak. I found it on the little shelf behind the shower. You'd left it running.'

‘What?'

‘The battery's nearly gone, but there's enough power left to make it vibrate against the wall.' He broke into a grin. ‘So, it could, possibly, have sounded like the pipes were knocking inside the wall. There's no evidence of water leaking in there.'

God, did this sort of thing happen to other people? He must really be enjoying this evidence of her stupidity.

‘Think you'd better cancel that plumber now.'

‘Yes.' It might have been less mortifying if Blair had left well alone. On the other hand, she would have had to pay good money just to be told that she was an idiot. This way she had it confirmed for free.

She made a brief phone call to the plumbing company, then grabbed an oven mitt and took the pan from the oven. She set it on a mat in the centre of the table where its contents looked incredibly appetising. She cut a small wedge of the frittata and plopped it into the metal dish she'd found, before chopping it into little chunks.

‘What are you doing?'

Without looking up, she said, ‘Dammit wants some.'

‘Does he? He told you so, did he?'

‘Well, he looked at me as if he did. He is allowed to have it, isn't he?'

‘Yes – there are no onions in it.'

She looked up. ‘He doesn't like onions?'

‘They're bad for dogs.'

‘Oh. I didn't know.'

He pulled out a chair while she took the dish to the corner that Dammit had made his own. The little dog began to gobble up the food. Well, that was surprisingly gratifying.

She spun back to the table to find Blair watching her with an odd expression. ‘What?'

A moment passed before he shook his head and said, ‘Nothing.' He picked up the knife she'd used and cut the frittata, placing the first slice on her plate. ‘This looks good. So, now that you don't need to wait for a plumber, what are you going to do with your free morning?'

She sat opposite him. ‘I'll go and check on my parents.'

‘Right, of course. How are they?'

‘Oh, you know. Same as ever. Don't tell me you've forgotten what you used to say about them as well.'

He looked up. ‘I remember that we used to laugh at some of the things they did, but you have to admit, they were funny.'

‘To you, maybe.'

‘Oh, come on. What about those notes your mum used to put in your lunch box? It was the highlight of the lunch break to find out what she'd written.'

Nicola couldn't believe it had taken her so long to learn that checking inside her lunch box
before
the lunch break was a very good idea. She'd made the mistake of confessing at home that she felt inferior to most of the girls at school, what with her dyslexia and her looks. Her mum's idea of being supportive had been to write motivational notes in big red letters that she couldn't fail to see. Nor could anyone seated nearby. Notes like,
Your glass is half full, so don't spill it.