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CHAPTER 10
“Look what I’ve found.” David Blake walked out of the garden shed with a rusty two-burner camping stove. “And I’ve located the tent you boys used to sleep in.” He beetled back in like he’d just found Aladdin’s cave full of treasure.
A moment later he plonked the canvas-wrapped tent on the ground at Oliver’s feet. Red dust billowed out of it. Oliver eyed it with distaste. “I think I’ll buy a new one.”
“Why? This is in perfectly good condition,” Dad said, pulling out the canvas and tent poles from the bag and laying them on the patio. Oliver distinctly remembered lying awake for hours in that tent with Aaron kicking him in his sleep.
But he didn’t want to look ungrateful. He’d told Dad earlier over a whisky that he’d be handing back the Jaycocks—and other clients—a lot sooner than expected. Dad had been good about it. He’d also hidden his surprise that Oliver was taking off in a kombi van with a garish wave painted on the side, a rather inappropriate name scrolled across the boot and a woman he’d only just met.
“I knew you’d be planning on returning to Sydney soon. Hadn’t expected you to go by road, but it’ll good for Felicity to have company.”
“Yes, she’s not got much idea what it’s like out there. I felt a bit sorry for her, to be honest.”
“No other reason?” Dad had asked lightly.
“No. God, no. I mean, she’s a lovely girl. Bubbly. Fun. But not my type at all.”
A flash of two perfect breasts and a dusting of freckles on a slim shoulder had slammed into his mind. “Besides, even if I was interested—which I’m not—it would be way too close to home. Last thing my life needs is any more complications.”
“Yes. Could get messy. Wouldn’t want that to happen.” David was staring into his whisky, and Oliver had got the impression his father was trying not to smirk. “That chapter in the book you’re stuck on,” Dad had continued, “do you want me to take a look at what you’ve got so far?”
The chapter in question now consisted of twelve words on an otherwise virgin page. “I might give it a polish first before I shoot it over to you. Maybe wait until I get to Sydney.”
“Whenever you’re ready.” Dad had shrugged. “I’ll go and check what camping stuff we’ve still got in the shed.”
Which was why, now, a whole heap of musty smelling camping gear was strewn all over the garden. Dad’s shed was where he kept everything he couldn’t bear to throw out. Boxes and boxes of it. Oliver had made sure that when he’d bought the apartment in Bondi he’d got rid of anything superfluous. He’d kept a neat box of photos, from childhood, the best ones of Mum, and of his graduation ceremony, of his first ever financial freedom seminar. More recent photos were neatly filed in the Cloud, backed up on Oliver’s intricate IT system. He’d removed the screensaver of him and Leonie smiling at his first book launch party. And the plethora of photos of them in frames on their dressing table.
At least he wouldn’t have to face those when he got back to the apartment.
The thing he didn’t say to Dad was that this trip was going to be a game changer. He’d force himself out of routine, out of his comfort zone. He’d decided not to even pack running gear. Which was a jump into the abyss as far as Oliver was concerned.
Dad suddenly presented him with an old sleeping bag, very ragged around the edges. “I think this one used to be yours. Want it?”
“No thanks.” Oliver stifled a shudder. There were some things he wasn’t going to try and change his attitude to, this sleeping bag being one of them. “I’ll definitely buy a new one.”
* * *
Felicity hummedto herself as she arranged her purchases in the Shaggin’ Wagon.
Two multi-coloured cushions for the back seats and a patchwork bedspread. A small jasmine-scented candle. A dream catcher. Two drinking mugs covered in butterflies, one pink, one purple, and a small red kettle for the stove.
She’d debated buying a rag rug for the floor but decided all the sand and dust would get stuck in it, which was a shame.
It all looked so pretty.
She sent photos to Evie.
Evie:Very boho chic. When are you heading off?
Felicity:In two days.
Evie:Send me a pic of you both before you go. Dying to see Mr Armani in shorts.
Smiling at this, Felicity unpacked the tins of spaghetti and baked beans, which apparently would be good for making jaffles. Earlier, Oliver had brought in this funny little iron contraption with a long handle and a rounded end, like an antique version of a modern sandwich maker.
“What’s that?” she’d asked.
“My Pop’s jaffle iron,” Oliver said. She inspected it more closely. “How’s it work?”
