Page 51 of Just Say Christmas
“I know,” she said. “How doyouknow?”
He shrugged. “I have to know. I have to stay big, but fit. It’s my job.” To be somebody you couldn’t push over in the scrum, which meant he was built more or less along the lines of the tree trunks he’d been painting. It also meant that he wasn’t going to be featuring on any rugby calendars. Which was fine. He’d never expected to.
He was fast. He just didn’tlookfast. He could flip a 150-Kg tractor tire all the way down the pitch, too, and hedidlook like he could do that. René had told him, at the end there, on the day when everything had come spilling out, “You are like a bear. Ascarredbear. The eyes, the terrible ears, the nose, all thehair . . .it is all too much. Except on your head, where your hairline is, yes it is most definitely, receding.”
Luke had had no comeback, because it was true. He’d just stood there, big and bearlike and scarred and with nothing to say, as the words had sunk into his flesh. No matter how much he washed and trimmed and neatened, he was never going to be anything other than what he was, or be quick with his words or his emotions, or come remotely close to being hot in the dark, lithe, quicksilver way René was. He got himself waxed every four weeks, but he pushed and shoved and tackled and sweated for a living, and he was always going to look like it.
“Oh,” Nyree said now. “Well, obviously. You do a good job at it, though. Staying big.”
“Yes,” Hayden muttered. “You do.” Which Luke didn’t need to hear.
“Marko packed my lunchandmy snack today,” Nyree went on, “and he’ll ask if I ate them, you watch.”
“You complain,” Kane said, “but you ate it, and you’ll eat the pizza, too.”
“Well, yeh,” Nyree said. “Obviously. Because there’ll be pesto.”
She’d made it easier today for Luke, as she had the other day at the house. Hayden had asked her about the wedding, and the two of them had drawn Tom into the conversation, as Tom was from Northland himself, which was where the wedding was being held. Where Nyree was from, originally, where her iwi was based and her Maori grandmother lived, and where she felt rooted and most at home. Luke knew that, because she’d explained it, as free with her revelations and her emotions as he and Kane were not. The three of them had chatted the afternoon away, and had left Luke and Kane mostly out of it, to Luke’s relief. Throughout it all, Hayden was funny and lively, and so bloody good-looking that Luke was glad he was working on his trees. Also that Hayden had to work tomorrow, so he wouldn’t be here.
Kane said, “I’ll pass on pizza. I told Victoria I’d take her out after work tonight.”
“Oh,” Nyree said. “Iwondered,when I didn’t hear from her. So that’s going well? Notice how tactful I’ve been, not asking?”
“Yeh,” Kane said. “Going . . .” He grinned. “Going brilliantly. But no worries, she’s practicing her cello pieces for the wedding, and she’s got a timetable for the weekend, too. That’s why I’m taking her out while I’ve got her attention.”
That was a lot for Kane to say. Luke said, “I’m glad, bro.” And Kane nodded, so that was all right.
When the rest of them were upstairs, on a surprisingly private deck overlooking about a hectare of green fern trees and palms, around an enormously long patio table and allowing the warm breeze to take away the persistent smell of paint, Nyree said, “This is a good house. Like you’re alone, out in the bush, but comfortable, like Marko’s. A bit different from Paris, Luke. Feels so much more . . . remote.”
“True,” he said. “But you’re right. Comfortable.”
“Do you have a house in Paris?” Casey asked. “Like inMadeline?Is it covered with vines?”
“It’s a book,” Rhys said when Luke probably looked confused.
“I have a flat in Paris, yeh,” Luke said. “That’s where I live. No vines, though.”
“Because he plays for Racing,” Isaiah told Casey. Itoldyou.”
“You said France,” she said. “Paris isn’t France.”
“Yes, it is. Paris is the capital of France.” He sighed. “It’s good that you’re going to be in Year Three next year. You need to learn more things.”
“Oh,” she said. “I thought Paris was very fancy, though.” She looked at Luke doubtfully, which made him smile some more.
“It is,” Nyree said. “Paris is magical, even in the rain.Especiallyin the rain. There’s no place in the world that looks better in gray than Paris. The buildings are colored cream, the silvery light glistens off the river in a way that makes your heart heal, and the streets are made of stone.”
“Well, some are,” Luke said.
“Luke’s flat doesn’t look one bit like you might think, either,” Nyree went on, ignoring him. “The front doors of the building are arched and painted blue, and the stone above them is arched, too. Luke’s flat is at the very top, up five flights of very old stairs, and the wood of the banisters and the red stone tiles on the landings have been rubbed smooth by hundreds of hands and feet over hundreds of years. Imagine that. Imagine all those people with their secrets and their joys, going up and down those stairs, living their lives.”
Casey had stopped eating and was staring at Nyree in awe. Luke was a bit as well. It sounded good. It just didn’t sound much like his fairly mundane life.
“Inside,” Nyree went on, “there are huge, dark oak beams going across the ceiling all through the main room. Six of them, with nicks on them from where somebody shaped them a long time ago, and white plaster between them, and shiny wood floors that have been walked on and polished and loved, over and over again, that look like a craftsman did them who lived only to make beautiful floors, because he laid out the wood in the shape of fish bones. There’s a kitchen with black-and-white tiles on the floor, set like diamonds instead of a draughts board, just because it’s more beautiful, and a tiny black-iron-railed balcony off the dining room that you get to through a pair of French doors with curved tops and curving black metal handles. The glass between the panes is wavy and thick, because it’s so old, and it makes everything outside look a bit wavy, too, like a painting. There’s just enough room out there for a little round table and two chairs, and there’s a perfect view across the tiled roofs of more cream-colored buildings where more people have lived for hundreds of years, and between them, you can see the branches of trees in a tiny park. In the summer, the swallows fly over the roofs. Their wings are a dark blue, bright as jewels, and pointed at the ends, and so are their tails, and they swoop and dive like . . .”
“Like fairies?” Casey asked.
“Exactly like fairies,” Nyree said, and she got the faraway look in her eye that told Luke she’d be painting in some swallows tomorrow.
