Page 6 of Special Delivery
‘Why not?’ Dani asked. ‘It might suit you. Lady gangster and baby gangster. You could make an Instagram account of all the hectic shiz you’re doing around town. Breaking jars—with a baby. Parking illegally—with a baby. Shit getting real—with a baby. People would lap that up. I’m guessing at least a million followers within a month. Seriously, enjoy the dollars and thank me later.’
‘Cool. Life plan sorted. So glad I’ve got your wisdom to guide me, Dan.’
‘Here to help, amiga, here to help.’
Poppy smiled. ‘I wish you actually were here, Dan. I miss your mood-lifting superpowers.’
‘Ha!’ barked Dani. ‘You’re just lucky I only charge you mates rates for my services. My next bill is in the mail, FYI. Speaking of which …’ Dani trailed off.
‘What?’
‘Okay, well, not speaking of which; this topic is completely unrelated to anything. HOWEVER, it is still very, very interesting and important news, which I am very sure you will beveryinterested to learn. Which is why I intend to tell you about it at this very moment, right now.’
‘Dani!’ Poppy warned.
‘HenryMarshallhasmovedbacktoOrange.’ It came out as one terrifyingly portentous word. ‘I ran into Rachel at Bondi Junction and she told me. All happened quite quickly, but he’s completely packed up from Queensland. Moving home to take over the family business. Can’t remember what that is, but—’
‘Financial planning,’ Poppy interrupted, instantly embarrassed for remembering.
‘Yeah, that.And’—Dani paused and took a deep breath—‘he’s engaged.’
The LandCruiser suddenly lurched across the double lines. ‘Shit!’
‘Poppy?!’
‘Sorry, some bloke just swerved into me,’ Poppy lied. ‘That’s, um, interesting. Mum actually mentioned the other day that he had moved back.’
‘You already knew? Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘Forgot, I guess,’ Poppy said—another lie. She was thankful this conversation was not happening in person; her face would surely betray her. Dani knew better than anyone the special place Poppy kept in her heart for Henry. They’d broken up amicably after high school and had become the archetype of best-friend-exes. He went to uni in Brisbane, she went to Sydney, and when either of them visited each other’s city they’d always crash at each other’s place. Poppy loved the weekends when Henry would fly down to see his grandmother or watch the rugby with his mates and they’d seamlessly fall back into step as if no time had passed. He’d sleep on her couch andthe next morning they’d go out for breakfast, each knowing exactly what the other would order.
Sure, there were times when they forgot they were just friends and succumbed to that lingering attraction neither of them could shake, but that was normal with exes, right? And truth be told, she loved those visits when they’d fall into bed and wake up wrapped in each other’s arms, giggling about how drunk they’d been. In her mind, those mornings were perfect.
‘How long since you’ve seen him?’ asked Dani.
Poppy cringed, the decade-old memory still startlingly fresh. ‘Not since … that night.’
Dani grunted sympathetically. ‘Say no more, my friend. Say no more.’
CHAPTER 4
Poppy’s mother had been talking nonstop for six minutes. Poppy had answered the phone and said an (unheard) hello as her mother launched into a monologue on topics that ranged from her neighbours, the finalists onThe Voice, the price of blueberries at the moment (‘outrageous!’—in a good way) and the recent New Year’s Day escapades of a prime-time breakfast show host (‘outrageous!’—in a bad way).
Chrissie McKellar was one of those country mums who considered a chunky pair of red-framed spectacles the height of sophistication. That her glasses matched her favourite golf skirt was a mind-boggling bonus, worthy of mentioning at least thrice-yearly.
Today she was calling to discuss the weather—specifically, the storms that were predicted to hit later that afternoon, bringing sixty-kilometre winds and forty mils of rain. The whole town was buzzing with anticipation and Poppy had found herself swept up in it too. She even had a thought to nip to Bunningsto buy flowers to plant in the soon-to-be rain-soaked soil. Such wholesomeness had never occurred to her in Sydney.
‘And I told Martha,’ her mother continued, ‘that she better put the new Volvo in the garage overnight because we all know Peter should have had that tree cut down ages ago but of course he didn’t, so now the poor Volvo is a sitting duck waiting to be crushed by that stupid old tree.’
She paused momentarily (so, so momentarily) before drawing breath. ‘And then I told her that she could cut down the tree herself with one of those lady-sized chainsaws that they sell in the gift shops these days. They have pink and floral-patterned ones and they’re quite lovely actually; I was thinking of buying one for myself. Or, she could just use that young fellow Cheryl told us about—the one who was playing football in Sydney but who’s now doing landscape gardening in town. I’ve been told he’s very attractive-looking and he often takes his shirt off while he’s working. Not that I’m interested in that, of course. I’ve just heard he’s very effective at his job.’
At that moment, a large crack of thunder sounded in the distance.
‘Good golly!’ her mother yelped. ‘Did you hear that? It must be close now. Oh, I hope Martha has moved that car into the garage—it’ll be such a waste of money if it gets a branch skewered through the roof. Well, darling, I’d better go and get the washing off the line—I can’t have my undies blowing into the neighbours’ gardens. They would die with fright. Or they may use them as tents for the grandchildren. Either way, I would die of embarrassment. Oh, what’s that Paul? The sports channel has cut out? No, that’s a shame.’
Her mother’s voice switched to a loud whisper. ‘What am I supposed to do to amuse your father now? This bloody storm!’ Converting back to full volume, she continued, ‘Darling, I must go. I’m sorry I’ve no time to chat, but it’s been lovely to hear from you. You make sure to let me know how your appointment goes, too—and don’t forget to go buy those newborn singlets. The Bonds sale ends today!’
The phone went silent and Poppy stared at it. Nine minutes. Nine full minutes and her mother hadn’t realised that Poppy had said not one single word. It had to be a record. Honestly, her mother should be put in a museum and studied.
