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He gave her a confused look to soften his words. “So now you know I’m homeless, I’m not good enough to clip your hedge?”
“It’s not that, I quite like the shape it has now, more natural, leave it.” And get out, get out, get out of my backyard because you make me feel unsafe. He could see that in her big eyes.
He looked from the homeowner, what was possibly a frown on her flawless face, to Sienna shocked rigid at his side. He should’ve let it go, but it pleased him to screw with them. “So where do you live, babe?”
She came to life and backed away, covering with a laugh. “You thought I was for real. Oh, darling, I was just having fun.” She flushed a tropical pink, hand to her throat. “I’m sooo sorry. I’ve got a man at home. I was just fooling with you.”
“You should go.” Homeowner had a phone in her hand.
This was the last job he’d get from Greenie. He packed up and left by the side gate. None of the women looked at him again, it pissed him off. He should’ve fucking flirted with them, strung the little bird girl along and drunk their tea, made them feel good. What would it have mattered? He’d have finished the hedge and kept working for the rest of the day. Now he had hours to fill before he could see Foley, all the aggravation, and half the money he’d wanted to make.
He’d tried to stay away from Foley. He’d lasted two nights. She was whatever an obsession hardened into after it stopped consuming you and it simply was you. He was a fool to think a quick fuck with bird girl would’ve changed that. Foley wanted friendship, but he couldn’t give her that; even that comfort, that softening towards her might destroy him.
And yet he couldn’t stop thinking about her, counting off the hours till he could see her again.
He’d met her every night after the night she told him about Gabriella and Adro, Roger and Hugh and Megan, and the house she wanted to save. He knew the house; it was doomed. It would rot until it had to be pulled down and something imposing and new would take its place. It would end up like he’d begun.
Every night they pounded along the beach, racing the dying light and each other’s fascination. Every night they sat in the cool sand and tried to meditate.
Sometimes she talked about work. Sometimes he told her about whatever odd job he’d done that day. Sometimes they simply breathed, inhales and exhales syncing together. It was addictive, this connection with her, the gravity of it called to him, made him strain towards her against everything he’d made his life into, the deliberate, necessary isolation and denial.
He told himself it was good for her to have someone to talk to, constructed a truth where he was an asset to her existence.
He was conniving scum. And the truth was fiction. Last thing Foley needed was the complication of him in her life and nothing proved it more than what just went down. He could play at being normal, at being wanted all he liked, he was a homeless guy for a reason, someone to fear, and nothing was going to change that.
He took the truck and the gear back to Greenie’s and collected what money he’d made. Greenie was sorry, but not that sorry, and both men knew Drum had mowed his last lawn. He walked back to the beach and showered off the day, dressed again and went to the shore to wait for Foley.
The only strain between them now was remembering not to touch her. She wasn’t so careful with him. She bumped him, shoved him, leaned against him and he pretended to be made of stone, of rock so impermeable the wonder of her body, the softness and scent of her, had no impact on him.
Tonight, instead of running, she wanted to see a movie and he had no excuse not to agree, given the theatre was set up on the beach. Cinema in the Sand, another of Foley’s council’s events.
Tonight they were playing a Mad Max marathon. He’d seen the first three before, but in all likelihood, even without Foley, he’d have come to watch them again because he could sit alone in the dark.
She insisted on getting fish and chips. He insisted on paying his way. They sat at the back away from the family groups, the dating couples and the die-hard movie fans. This was the tail end of autumn, the days were warm but the nights were cold. She was bundled up in track pants and a zippered fleece jacket. He hadn’t yet replaced the winter clothing he’d lost, but he’d need to soon. He’d scavenged one long-sleeved t-shirt and a pair of ill-fitting jeans, but they were enough for now.
They ate through Mad Max. She shuffled closer during Road Warrior, her hand in the sand close to his thigh. Too close. He shifted so he wasn’t tempted to take it in his. In Beyond Thunderdome she leaned against his side. Every muscle group went on red alert, tensing, skin cells buzzing. She seemed oblivious to anything except the fact he made a good wall to lean on. He ground his fist into the sand to stop from wrapping his arm around her and looked down at the top of her head. “Tired?”
“Nope.”
But he’d seen her eyes closing. “You don’t have to stay for me.”
“I’m not staying for you.” She sat upright. “And I’m not here for work either. The event team is running this.” She was annoyed.
“Okay.” He didn’t know what he was supposed to do with that.
“You could loosen up. You’re cold. I’m warm. If you put your arm around me, we’d both be more comfortable.”
“That’s not—”
“Not what friends do? Seriously, Drum. Grow a brain.”
She turned back to the screen, crossing her legs and hunching forward. Shit. On screen Max Rockatansky was about to enter the Thunderdome. Tina Turner’s Aunty Entity was laying down the law.
He leaned a little towards her and kept his voice low, though they were well back from the crowd and it wasn’t a silent one. “Are we having a fight?”
She shifted a little further away. “We’d have to mean something to each other for it to be a fight.”
That was that then. He looked out across the sea of bodies sprawled in the sand, on towels, on picnic rugs, on each other. He moved so he was behind her, put his legs either side of her hips and leaned forward so his chest grazed against her back. She was warm. She was also still pissed off. He put a hand to her shoulders to ease her against him and got a gruff, “That’s better.”
