Barbara Hannay - Australian Affairs - Wed

Ellie hurried across the room and down the hallway to the kitchen. ‘Jacko?’ she called, but he wasn’t there either.

Joe was close behind her. ‘He can’t have gone far.’

‘No.’ She went back along the hallway to the bedrooms, calling, ‘Jacko, where are you?’ Any minute she would hear his giggle.

But he wasn’t in his room. Or in her bedroom. Or in the study, or Nina’s room. The bathroom was empty. A wild, hot fluttering unfurled in Ellie’s chest. It was only a small house. There wasn’t anywhere else to look.

She rushed back to the lounge room as Joe came through the front door.

‘I’ve checked the veranda,’ he said.

‘He’s not here.’ Ellie’s voice squeaked.

‘He must be here. Don’t panic, Ellie.’

She almost fell back into her old pattern, hurling defensive accusations. How could you have left him?

But she was silenced by the quiet command in Joe’s voice, and by the knowledge that she’d been the one who stormed out.

‘What was Jacko doing before you came outside to talk to me?’ she asked with a calmness that surprised her.

‘He was playing hide and seek with the bear. Here.’ Joe swished aside the long curtain beside the door.

Ellie gasped.

Jacko was sitting against the wall, perfectly still and quiet, peeping out from beneath his blond fringe, hugging his grubby knees.

‘Boo!’ he said with a proud grin. ‘I hided, Mummy.’

They fell on him together, crouching to hug him, laughing shakily. United by their mutual relief.

It wasn’t a bad way to start a truce.

* * *

Dinner that night was leftover Spanish chicken. For Joe and Ellie the atmosphere was, thankfully, more relaxed than the night before, and afterwards, while Ellie read Jacko bedtime stories, Joe did kitchen duty, rinsing the plates, stacking the dishwasher and wiping the bench tops.

By the time he came back from checking the station’s working dogs and making sure the chicken coop was locked safely from dingoes, Ellie was at the kitchen table, looking businesslike with notepaper and pen, and surrounded by recipe books.

‘I need to plan our Christmas dinner menu,’ she said, flipping pages filled with lavish and brightly coloured Christmas fare.

‘I don’t suppose I can help?’

She looked up at him, her smile doubtful but curious. ‘How are your cooking skills these days?’

‘About the same as they were last time I cooked for you.’

‘Steak and eggs.’ Her nose wrinkled. ‘I was hoping for something a little more celebratory for Christmas.’

‘Well, if you insist on being fussy...’ He pretended to be offended, but he was smiling as he switched on the kettle. ‘I’m making tea. Want some?’

‘Thanks.’

At least the truce seemed to be working. So far.

While Joe hunted for mugs and tea bags, Ellie returned to her recipe books, frowning and looking pensive as she turned endless pages. As far as Joe could tell, she didn’t seem to be having much luck. Every so often she made notes and chewed on her pen and then, a few pages later, she scratched the notes out again.

‘Our Christmas dinner doesn’t have to be lavish,’ he suggested as he set a mug of tea with milk and one sugar in front of her. ‘I’m fine with low-key.’

‘I’m afraid it’ll have to be low-key. We don’t have much choice.’

With an annoyed frown, Ellie pushed the books away, picked up the tea mug and sipped. ‘Nice tea, thanks.’ She let out a heavy sigh. ‘The problem is, I didn’t order a lot of things in for Christmas. Jacko and I were supposed to be spending the day with Chip and Sara Anderson on Lucky Downs. All they wanted me to bring was homemade shortbread and wine and cheese. But now, with the creeks up, we won’t be able to get there.’

She waved her hand at the array of books. ‘Some people spend weeks planning their Christmas menus and here am I, just starting. Yikes, it’s Christmas Eve tomorrow.’

Joe helped himself to a chair and picked up the nearest book: Elegant and Easy Christmas.

‘Those recipes are gorgeous,’ Ellie said. ‘But they all need fancy ingredients that I don’t have.’

He flicked through pages filled with tempting pictures—a crab cocktail starter, turkey breast stuffed with pears and chestnut and rosemary, a herb-crusted standing rib roast, pumpkin and caramel tiramisu.

‘I see what you mean,’ he said. ‘These are certainly fancy. Would it help if we make a list of the things you have in store?’

‘Well, yes, I guess that’s sensible.’ Ellie rolled her eyes. ‘I’ve a pretty good range of meat, but my problem is the trimmings. I don’t have the sauces and spices and fancy herbs and that sort of thing. So I’m afraid we’re stuck with ordinary, boring stuff. For Christmas!’

‘Hmm.’

She looked up, eyeing Joe suspiciously. ‘You’re frowning and muttering. What does that mean?’

‘It means I’m thinking.’ Truth was—an exciting idea had flashed into his head. Crazy. Probably impossible.

But it was worth a try.

‘Excuse me,’ he said, jumping to his feet. ‘I need to make a phone call.’

‘There’s a phone here.’ Ellie nodded to the wall phone.

‘It’s OK. I’ve bought a sat phone, and I have the numbers stored.’

She looked understandably puzzled.

Adorably puzzled, Joe thought as he left the room.

By the light of the single bulb on the veranda, he found the number he wanted. Steve Hansen was an ex-Army mate and, to Joe’s relief, Steve answered the call quickly.

‘Steve, Joe Madden here. How are you?’

‘I’m fine, Joe, heard you were back. How are you, mate? More importantly, where are you? Any chance of having a Christmas drink with us?’

‘That’s why I’m ringing,’ Joe said. ‘I’ve a huge favour to ask.’

‘Well, ask away, mate. We both know how much I owe you. If it wasn’t for you, I would have flown home from Afghanistan in a wooden box. So, what is it?’

CHAPTER SEVEN

MIDAFTERNOON ON CHRISTMAS Eve and the Karinya kitchen was a hive of activity.

At one end of the table, Ellie and Jacko were cutting shortbread dough into star shapes—with loads of patience on Ellie’s part. At the other end, Joe, having consulted an elderly everyday cookbook, was stuffing a chicken with a mix of onion, soft breadcrumbs and dried herbs. To Ellie’s amusement, he was tackling the task with the serious concentration of a heart surgeon.

By now the rain had stopped and the air was super-hot and sticky—too hot and sticky for the ceiling fan to make much difference. Flies buzzed at the window screens and from outside came the smell of once parched earth now turned to mud.

With the back of her hand, Ellie wiped a strand of damp hair from her eyes. She was used to hot Christmases and she’d come to terms with the ordinariness of this year’s Christmas fare so, despite the conditions, she was actually feeling surprisingly upbeat.

She was certainly enjoying her truce with Joe.

And yet she was nervous about this situation. Playing happy families with her ex had to be risky. It was highly possible that she was enjoying Joe’s company far too much. Already, today they’d caught themselves laughing a couple of times.

Surely that had to be dangerous?

Could laughter lead to second thoughts? Could she find herself weakening and becoming susceptible to Joe’s charms, just as her mother had warned?

Then again, she knew these happy vibes couldn’t last. By Boxing Day, she and Joe would be back to normal.

Normal and divorced and leading separate peaceful lives.

‘OK,’ she said briskly, whipping her attention from her broken marriage to her neat sheets of shortbread stars and her small son’s not-so-neat efforts. ‘I think it’s time to pop these gourmet masterpieces into the—’