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Judging by the slack jawed look on the face of the neighbour, who was hosing the front lawn and an unnecessary swath of footpath, they made an unusual scene in the quiet suburban street.
“There goes the neighbourhood,” she said.
He pulled her in close, hands on her butt. “Let’s give them something to complain about.”
She laughed and pushed him away, but he was beaming proudly as if she was a brand new shiny toy he couldn’t wait to show off. Every chance he’d gotten on the drive over he’d touched her, putting his hand over hers, stroking her arm, leaning into her.
She took a deep breath and steeled herself. This was for Jake. No matter how hard it might be to play happy families for the evening, she was going to grin and bear it, and be that shiny new toy til her batteries ran out.
They heard the yelling before they got inside the front door. A male voice, raised in anger, cursing loudly, and a female voice shrill with indignation, and over the top of both the deep insistent bark of a fat chocolate coloured Labrador who threw himself at Jake full tilt.
Jake staggered back a pace, hunching down to roughhouse the dog; not dodging fast enough to avoid a slobbering lick to the jaw.
“Ugh Monty, down, down.” He grabbed the dog’s collar to prevent him launching himself at Rielle.
“They’re here, Mick,” said the female voice. Its owner appeared, red faced in the hallway. “Monty, outside,” she snapped, then, “Darling,” holding her arms out for a hug which Jake willingly obliged, lifting his mum off the ground in his enthusiasm.
“Mum—Trish, this is Arielle Mainline,” Jake said. He did a bad job of smothering the laughter inspired by Trish’s raised eyebrows and Rie immediately regretted not stopping by the hotel to change.
“I’m so glad you could come. Please don’t mind the dog, he won’t hurt you,” Trish said.
In the kitchen Jake’s dad tried to look like he hadn’t been electrocuted. When Rielle held out her hand saying, “Mr Reed, nice to meet you,” he just stared at her.
Jake said, “She won’t bite, Dad,” and Mick Reed blushed and stammered out a welcome, taking Rielle’s hand in both of his and pumping it up and down manically.
“Don’t mind my dad. He’s like the dog—wildly enthusiastic but he won’t hurt you.”
“Ah Jake,” said Mick. He turned away to open the fridge.
Jake pulled out a kitchen stool for Rielle. He turned to his mum. “What was all the yelling about?”
“Never mind that. Your father is an idiot.” Looking to Rielle, Trish said, “I hope you like roast chicken, Arielle.”
“You can call me Rielle or Rie.”
“But Arielle is such a lovely name. I’m sure your mother doesn’t want you shortening it.”
“No, she didn’t,” Rielle said softly, and she felt the comfort of Jake’s hand against her back.
“So, you’ll be Arielle to me then,” said Trish. “Dinner will be about half an hour. The three of you go out in the garden. I’ll call you when it’s ready.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?” Rielle walked around the kitchen bench to stand beside Trish. If she had something to do, to contribute, maybe she could stop feeling like a she was Jake’s take-home science experiment.
“Oh no, not at all, you go with the boys.”
“I’d like to stay with you if you don’t mind?” She made a shooing motion to Jake.
He said, “Right Dad, we know when we’re not wanted,” and together with Mick and the dog, Jake went through the back door to the garden.
As soon as he was out of earshot she said, “I’d like to apologise for my appearance. I’m not dressed appropriately. I’ve come straight from a TV interview, but I could’ve changed. I wasn’t thinking. I don’t mean any disrespect.”
“Oh don’t worry, Arielle. I was concerned for a moment Mick might lose the power of speech, but he does seem to have pulled through.”
“Does Jake leave clothes here? M
aybe he has a shirt I could put on?”
“We can do better than that,” said Trish, a gleam in her eye. “Come with me.”
