Second Time Sweeter Read online

  Things had been tough between her and Mac the last year before he left. She knew why now. What was that line of Princess Di’s? Something about there being three people in her marriage, and how that was one too many, really? Well, Gen got that. Except maybe there had been four—her and Mac, his new lover, and the ghost of Brodie Brown.

  What could survive that?

  Brodie whooped and laughed behind her as Will over-corrected in a turn and flipped on his back, rolling back again quickly and easily. Then the instructor seemed to ask Will a question inside the tube, pointing at the very top, which seemed to go on forever. Will nodded quickly and grinned at Gen, and she felt the bottom fall out of her tummy. Up there? She’d seen the teenage girls go right up the top, with the instructor’s help, but she was really far more comfortable with her little guy zooming around her down near the bottom.

  The instructor looked at Gen and gave her a questioning thumbs-up. She hesitated; he was so small, and it was so far up there. What if something went wrong?

  Her mind whizzed in an instant over all that had happened on this day. Brodie, telling the kids to pack up; they were having a weekend away in the big smoke. The kids, excited but nervous, and Will especially reluctant. Bea’s initial condemnation of Brodie as the Meanie Meanie had been quickly dispelled when she had taken in his gorgeous convertible. But Will had remained tight-lipped and sceptical. Gen had been sure it would be a tortuous trip.

  But she had forgotten how Brodie was. There was no try-hard in him. And, just like with the cattle, that hate to be pulled and coerced and bullied, Will responded bit by bit to Brodie’s cool chatter. Brodie wasn’t trying to impress Will, or buy him. He wasn’t focusing on him too hard, making him trip over his laces and feel nervous and uncoordinated. He just chatted in that way he had, almost as if he was musing aloud to himself.

  As Brodie had driven them out through Sweet Pocket, then through the surrounding townships, he told stories. About all the things he’d done wrong and right in various places over the years. About the people they knew, and who and what they’d been in the past. Funny stories, irreverent stories, sad stories. And, in that way that kids have of loving real stories far more than anything they could ever read or that you could ever make up for them, the two little people in the back started to lean forward and ask more. Mostly Bea, at first. But soon Will was laughing just as hard, and leaning forward for more just as eagerly.

  Genevieve Jenkins had always known that Brodie Brown could charm the birds from the trees, but seeing him charm her scared, lonely, hurting son? It touched something so tender and bruised inside her that she had to blink back tears several times.

  So when he’d started telling them about the indoor skydive centre, and how he needed to call in there, it was a no-brainer that the kids would be keen to have a go. Especially when Brodie told them the youngest flyer had been three years old. But no way had Gen expected Will to be the one to beg the loudest, nag her the hardest.

  So, how could she have said no?

  And how could she say no now, as Will and the instructor both looked at her expectantly, pointing at the top of the tube and asking permission? She nodded quickly, lest she change her mind, and closed her eyes. She couldn’t watch.

  Fuck, she had to watch.

  She opened them again quickly and bore witness as her little son was spun around and around in his superman pose, and slowly taken up to the top of that damn tube. His ecstatic face passed her in the glass as he made the ascent, and then, just as suddenly, he was careening back down again, only to fling upwards one more time—higher, faster, wilder, his face even more thrilled as he rode the air and loved this one single, glorious superhero moment.

  Gen got vertigo just watching, but she couldn’t peel her eyes from her boy’s body as he came back to earth and made for the door, again clawing and scrambling to be released from the air current. He hurtled into her arms as he came back through the door, squealing and high five-ing Brodie and his sister.

  ‘Me next, me next,’ Bea squealed, almost knocking Brodie over in her rush for the tube.

  Gen squeezed Will even harder and pulled him onto her lap. ‘You were amazing in there,’ she yelled into his ear. ‘What did you think?’

  Will pulled away enough to look at her and laugh. ‘I want to go again!’

  Chapter Seven

  Down to business

  ‘Well,’ the young guy who seemed to be made of gold said. ‘We like what we see.’ He smiled, treating them to perfectly white, even teeth which, while beautiful, did not look as though they had been bought from a cosmetic dentist. They looked like they had always been at home in that sweet, wide mouth. ‘And taste,’ he added, licking his sample spoon for good measure. ‘This is the best kind of story—a community that’s all on board, a town in transition from the old farming ways to better ones.’ He grinned again. ‘Organic is the future, and we’d love Sweet Pocket to be part of that.’ He stopped smiling to underline the gravity of his next point. ‘Certification all going well, of course.’

  Gen stared at the golden boy. He couldn’t have been more than twenty-four or twenty-five, and he was long, lean, and brown all over, and sported a full head of the neatest, cleanest-looking dreadlocks Gen had ever seen. Not that Gen had seen that many dreadlocks in real life, she had to admit. Anyway, the point was, this boy spoke for the whole organic industry in Australia. Amazing. And she didn’t think it was a bad thing. In the last two hours he had shown them just how much he knew.

  She tried to think of something intelligent to say. In the beginning she had fired him with questions, trying hard to understand the criteria, the process, the potential pitfalls. But for the last fifteen minutes she had become increasingly mesmerised watching him speak. Clearly, he loved what he did. ‘Of course,’ she echoed weakly. But what if it didn’t? Go well. What if something went wrong? Wasn’t it always the way, that when something you wanted so badly you could almost taste it was so close, that things went wrong?

  That had certainly been Gen’s experience.

  What would it be this time? What horror would rise up to snatch this dream from her? Would certification go wrong, somehow? Would the Spring Fair end in disaster if no one came, or, worse, if all the farmers ran back to the Big Cow, where they felt safe, if unloved?

  Brodie made the first move, standing up and scraping his chair back, startling Gen out of her daze.

  ‘Thank you so much for your time, Mr Williams,’ she said, trying to recover her composure and reaching across to take the golden boy’s hand.

  ‘Call me Matt,’ he enthused, almost blinding her with his vegan good health and brilliant white teeth.

  ‘Okay, Matt,’ she agreed, watching as Matt shook hands with Brodie too.

  Gen hadn’t failed to notice the way Matt had warmed to Brodie as Matt had shown them around the offices, Brodie asking all kinds of knowledgeable questions, making approving noises at the wall of amateur nature photographs Matt had admitted were his, and talking crops and cattle and farm practices. Right now, shaking his hand goodbye, Matt looked like he wanted to take Brodie home with him, adopt a new big brother.

  Gen shut her eyes and tried to imagine the kind of mayhem those two beautiful men might cause if they teamed up. God help the women whose paths they crossed.

  Too soon, Brodie and Gen were back out on the street in Darlinghurst.

  ‘What do you think?’ Brodie turned to her, a crease in his brow.

  ‘I think it would be wonderful,’ she said. ‘If we can make it work.’ Her mind raced with all the new information. ‘Incredible. But are we sure we’re all locked down? We’ll need to get the town together, starting with the DB I reckon.’

  Brodie nodded. ‘You need to prepare your business case this week,’ he said.

  She nodded, looking down at the pavement as they walked the couple of blocks back to Brodie’s apartment. So much to think about, so much to prepare.

  The sun was shining on a perfect Sydney day as the late aft
ernoon crowds started to mill around them. Beautiful, fashionable people pressed into cafes and bars as Gen’s tummy gave her away with a startling rumble. ‘Me too.’ Brodie laughed, rubbing his tummy. ‘We’d better get back to those kids. I’ve had Stella organise something special for us tonight.’

  Gen felt the colour creep into her cheeks. ‘She doesn’t cook for you, does she?’

  Brodie laughed even harder. ‘No!’ he protested. ‘She made early dinner bookings for us. I guess the kids eat early?’

  Gen felt her tummy sink. ‘Oh Brodie, you’re so thoughtful,’ she started, trying to work through how to explain to him that four- and six-year-olds weren’t so hot at sitting down to eat for hours at a restaurant. ‘But you’ve done so much for us today; maybe we should just get some takeout. My shout?’

  Brodie stopped and turned to face her, oblivious to the crowds streaming around them. The people seemed to part for the Crop King, yielding to his personal power the way the seventeen-year-old Gen always had. Gen wasn’t sure what it was. His height? The way he filled out those blue jeans like sin on a stick? The jaw? The self-possession knitted into every sinew? ‘Now don’t you go and ruin this, Gen Jen.’ He pouted. ‘The kids are going to love it.’ He gestured in the direction of the harbour. ‘We’re going by water taxi.’

  Somewhere on the harbour? Gen’s mother instincts quaked even further in their boots. It was bound to be posh in that case. She wasn’t even sure she’d packed anything suitable. ‘Um,’ she started, but Brodie was already five strides ahead.

  ‘Mush,’ he threw over his shoulder, like he always had to the cattle on Nelly’s farm.

  Gen raced to catch up, keen to get back to Brodie’s apartment and make sure the kids hadn’t destroyed anything.

  They were in luck. Stella, the domestic goddess, had not only kept the children gainfully occupied in several games of Twister and at least five rounds of hide and seek, she had managed to keep them away from any of Brodie’s breakables.

  Not that there were many.

  His place was like him—cool, country-inspired cred. The architecture itself was lovely. Perched atop a moderately high block, three walls of glass afforded stunning views across Potts Point, Woolloomooloo and out over the harbour. A huge patio provided ample running room, even for two busy children, and Bea had already fallen in love with the indoor/outdoor garden where she’d made a home in a rosemary bush for her favourite toy budgerigar. Inside, a vast living space bigger than Gen’s tiny home was split into three levels, carving up different spaces for television viewing, harbour watching, and eating. It was mostly white but not fussy, decorated with farm antiques and watercolours of country scenes. Anyone walking in would think Brodie missed his roots.

  Two little bodies hurled themselves at Gen as she entered, recounting the fun they’d had with Stella and how badly they wanted to take one of the ferries across to Manly in the morning. ‘Pleeasssseee,’ Bea lisped imploringly.

  ‘We’ll see,’ Gen said, feigning stern, but light of heart that the kids were having so much fun. ‘What about you, Will-Meister?’ She swept her little skydiver into a high hug.

  ‘It was great,’ he said, shooting a shy glance at the lovely Stella. The girl couldn’t have been older than twenty, and she was a dark-haired beauty, all big smile and sparkling blue eyes. She was wearing shorts so short Gen was reminded of KD’s mother clucking that she might be old-fashioned, but she firmly believed girls should wear shorts longer than their labias. Gen had to cover her mouth as the thought landed.

  ‘You’re a gem, Stella,’ Gen said, smiling warmly at the girl who was probably only eight years younger than her but seemed light years away in experience and lifestyle.

  ‘That she is,’ Brodie echoed, thumping the girl so hard on the back Gen winced. ‘Her mother, Rosie, worked for me for years, ’til I convinced her to go back to school.’ He appealed to Stella with two outstretched hands. ‘And was I right?’

  ‘She’s real smart,’ Stella chimed in, as if this was a conversation she’d had more than once.

  ‘Course I hated to lose her,’ Brodie added. ‘But then it turned out Stel was on the hunt and everything turned out peachy.’

  Gen smiled and nodded, watching Stella’s cheeks turn pink at the words ‘on the hunt’. Oh dear. She suspected Stella had more than one motivation for working for Brodie.

  ‘Water taxi all sorted?’ Brodie asked Stella.

  ‘Yep,’ the girl agreed, getting her blush under control and pulling out her iPhone. ‘It’ll arrive at the jetty downstairs in ten.’ She turned to Gen. ‘Kids are changed, faces washed, ready to rock and roll.’

  Gen studied their casual shorts and tees critically. ‘Will they be okay?’

  Stella laughed. ‘Yep,’ she said, crouching down to get cuddles from the two kids. ‘Right as rain. It’s easy-going at this place. They’ll love it.’ She smiled at Gen as she stood. ‘You’ll love it too.’

  ***

  Gen changed quickly into a cool summer dress, befitting the warm spring day. She’d stuffed it in at the last moment, unsure exactly what she might need. For the meeting with the organic peak body she’d opted for smart casual—tailored khaki pants, a cool cotton shirt, and dressy boots. She peeled them off quickly and held the pretty dress up against herself in front of the long mirror in the room Brodie had allocated her. It adjoined the room the children were staying in. She hadn’t had a chance to peek in there yet but there was no time right now. She studied herself in the mirror. Was it too girly? Was this really who she was? It had been so long since she had been out to dinner anywhere except a counter meal at the local pub with the kids, let alone somewhere in Sydney, somewhere on the harbour, somewhere you got to by water taxi.

  The white dress was simple but pretty, gathered at the bodice, belted around the waist with a pale blue ribbon, threads of blue swishing around the mid-calf skirt as well. She yanked it on and slipped some white sandals on her feet, running a brush through her hair and licking a swish of pale pink lippy across her lips before grabbing her bag and heading for the door. She checked her reflection one last time before she went. Should she add some more makeup for dinner out in the big city? Problem was, it always kind of made her look like a transvestite, with her already over-big green eyes and her pale skin. No, she decided, this would do. She was a fraction sunburned from not being careful enough on the walk to and from the meeting today, but it lent her a healthy flush, and she could see she looked neat and fresh, if not glamorous.

  Game on.

  ***

  When Gen came tumbling back into the room after disappearing for two minutes to get changed, Brodie tried to work out what shape would be appropriate to twist his face into. Why did she always do that? Why didn’t she just walk like other people did? Gen had been storming, tumbling and running into rooms since the day they had started kinder together more than twenty years before. It made it hard to pin her down, keep her in focus. She was like some kind of butterfly, flitting and spinning and making you dizzy with all that motion, her red hair unruly and flying, her freckles standing out in a face flushed from all that wild movement.

  If she were divine, she would have been the Goddess of Motion. And truly, some days he wondered if she was. Divine, that was. Surely only a goddess could bewitch him like this.

  He knew propriety declared he should do some kind of ‘hey buddy, you look nice’ face, but his own facial muscles were refusing to cooperate and his mouth had been comprehensively evacuated of all the saliva that might help him with the suddenly complicated task of forming speech. Because all he could think when he looked up from the quick game of knuckles he had been playing with the kids when she crashed back into the room was that she looked like a grown-up, beautiful version of the girl he had always loved. She was wearing a sweet white dress that emphasised her length and tiny waist. It swished around her legs showing off her fine calves and ankles. Her hair tumbled down her shoulders, held in place only by a light blue headband that kept her unruly
fringe off her forehead and gave him a better view of her face.

  What the hell was it about that face?

  Her skin was so milky, it made you want to reach out and touch it, or maybe kiss it to see if it tasted as good as it looked. She had this really strong chin for such a pretty thing—a stubborn chin, Nelly had always said, a chin no good could come of. The freckles only underlined the perfection of her face, like a frame or something. And he didn’t even want to go near thinking about her mouth—over-big, that funky gap between her two front teeth, pink lips that didn’t even need the small amount of lipstick he could see she’d applied. Lips to fuck with your good sense and make you want to kiss the hell out of them, no matter how hard he tried to repeat that mantra to himself.

  She’s not how she seems. She stomped your heart once before. She’s not worth it.

  But it was the eyes, of course. Once you even glanced at those eyes, you were lost. At least he was. Big, so freakin’ big. And green and expressive. Sad, happy, scared, it was all there, always, on display. If her heart was breaking or if she was jumping out of her skin with excitement, you could see it all. And Brodie loved that most of all about her—that she was so open to him, and that she had none of the artifice or wiles of the girls he’d known in the city. She was no innocent, but neither would she play you.

  Well, so he’d thought. Problem was, that day, that one day, the day it had mattered the most, he hadn’t been able to read her at all. Words had been coming out of her mouth that he couldn’t understand, so he had sought out the eyes that always told him the truth. But she’d hidden herself away and so they had told him nothing.

  He cleared his throat to make a suitable comment, but Bea beat him to it. ‘You look bee-yoo-tee-ful, Mummy!’

  Brodie settled for an appreciative whistle. If in doubt, resort to non-verbals. ‘Yessirree, she sure is a vision, kids, isn’t she? Right, well, let’s hit the jetty, huh?’