What Rosie Found Next Read online

  When Tom’s voicemail kicked in, Owen left a message after the beep. He checked his pager, but it was all quiet today, thankfully. He could tell Rosie was desperate to ask him what the pager was for, and why he kept disappearing at odd hours of the day and night, but the mystery was a bit of a laugh and he got the feeling that once she found out, the fun and games would be over.

  Using this window of opportunity before Rosie returned, Owen decided the study was as good a place as any to continue his search. He’d already rifled through his parents’ bedroom – their wardrobes, bedside tables, chest of drawers – the day he’d walked in on Rosie drying her hair. He shook his head. This was no time to drift into a daydream about the girl who could be home any minute even though his mind flitted to her body in those figure-hugging jeans and lace bra. He retrieved the key from its hiding place in his bedside table upstairs. He’d kept it there so he could search the room without having to put it back to rights every time.

  The large room with a long rectangular window at the end had an enormous walnut desk in the centre – the kind with a green leather top you’d expect to find in a big American bank – and on top of it sat a computer. One wall of the room was lined with shelves housing ornaments his parents had collected over the years. There was a set of thimbles that had belonged to his gran, a china jug in russet-red that his mum had picked out on a trip to Spain, photo frames filled with pictures of all three boys as babies.

  He scratched his head as he looked at the two filing cabinets in the corner of the room and the eight drawers in the large desk. It was hard to know where to begin. Methodically, he opened the top drawer of the first filing cabinet and began to wade through the papers. He flipped through bank statements which showed nothing out of the ordinary, a file full of information about his dad’s pension, a folder way at the back of the filing cabinet which contained homemade cards to his mum from him, Tom and Ben over the years. Funny, he’d never thought she was sentimental enough to keep anything like that. There was a card in bright yellow with a daffodil on the front that he remembered making at school and inside he’d written – in terrible handwriting – Happy Mother’s Day. He ran his fingers over the words, but when he heard Rosie’s car pull up outside he dumped the files on top of the desk, locked the study behind him and went outside to greet her.

  She bustled into the hallway, plastic carrier bags looped over each arm. ‘You’re still here.’

  ‘Yeah, sorry. Here, let me help you.’ He took the bags through to the kitchen, calling over his shoulder, ‘I’m on the case, should be out of your hair soon enough. Is there more in the car?’ It paid to be nice to her if his plan was going to work out.

  Rosie nodded and together they went outside to get the rest of the shopping in between them.

  ‘This car is like a giant blob of Hubba Bubba,’ he told her. The pink VW looked even brighter bathing beneath the sun.

  ‘I’ll take that as a compliment.’

  ‘You should. The Hubba suits you.’ His comment hung in the air when his phone chimed from the kitchen and he hot-footed it back inside with the bags he’d pulled out of the boot.

  He took the call before it went through to voicemail. ‘Tom! Great to hear from you.’ It sounded like bedlam at his brother’s place. He could barely hear Tom with all the background noise. ‘What on earth’s going on there?’

  ‘We’ve got playgroup here this morning.’

  Ah, that explained it.

  ‘I got your message,’ Tom bellowed. ‘How are you?’

  The posse in the background put pay to any further conversation until at last the noise became muffled.

  ‘Have you shut yourself in a cupboard?’ Owen quizzed.

  ‘Don’t laugh … this could be you one day.’

  ‘As if.’ His brother always did have a good sense of humour.

  ‘So where are you?’

  ‘I’m up at Mum and Dad’s place.’

  ‘I thought they had a house-sitter.’

  ‘They did. Or, they do. I didn’t realise, so I’m trying to arrange somewhere else to stay as I’m without any forwarding address at the moment.’

  Tom laughed. ‘Well, you’re welcome here any time. As long as you don’t mind the coffee mornings, sofas that have seen regurgitated baby milk for the best part of ten months, and the early morning wake-up calls.’

  ‘Sadie told me Ryan is up for a good play at … what was it? Five a.m.?’

  ‘Better. Four o’clock is his favourite time now.’

  Owen shuddered. He didn’t mind early, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to be woken by a child leaping all over him each day. Then again, what choice did he have? ‘It won’t be for long, I promise. I’ll try to spread myself around.’

  ‘Stay as long as you need.’

  The posse sounded as though they’d found Tom’s hiding place, so Owen said, ‘I’ll drive over to you later. And Tom?’

  ‘Yep?’

  ‘Don’t mention to Mum or Dad that I was here.’

  ‘Not a problem.’

  Tom knew the deal. He knew the tension that existed between Owen and his mum.

  Rosie was busy unpacking the shopping, taking eggs from their cardboard box and slotting them into the plastic container with its special holes. He leaned past her to find a can of Sprite lurking at the back of the fridge.

  ‘Tom says I can move in with him for a while until I get myself sorted.’ He cracked open the can. ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing,’ she said, turning to slot a box of porridge sachets into the pantry. ‘It sounded manic, that’s all. I could hear the yelling from over here.’

  ‘Yes, apparently my nephew didn’t use his lungs enough in the first ten months of his life, so he’s making up for it now, along with his mates.’

  ‘A ten-month-old has mates?’

  He swigged from his can. ‘They start early these days.’

  She paused, a bottle of milk hooked onto her fingers. ‘Can I ask you a question?’

  ‘You just did.’

  ‘Funny.’ She leaned against the bench. ‘No, I wanted to ask what you do for work. Do you work?’

  He smiled. She thought she had him all figured out. ‘You think I live off my parents’ money, don’t you?’

  He loved it when she blushed, but he didn’t want to wind her up any more than he already had. ‘I’m a property investor. I buy apartments, units, sometimes houses. I do them up, and then I rent them out. Sometimes I sell them if it’ll turn a quick profit, but usually it makes more sense to keep hold of them.’

  She unpacked the last bag and stowed the dishwashing tablets beneath the sink.

  He downed the rest of his can. ‘I’ll head upstairs, pack a bag. I’ll be out of your hair in the next hour or so.’

  Halfway up the stairs Owen stopped at the sound of Rosie’s voice.

  ‘I’ve been thinking.’ She looked up at him from the hallway, her hand toying with her necklace.

  He leaned against the bannisters. ‘Sounds dangerous.’

  Her wide eyes flicked to the floor and then back up again. ‘This is an enormous house, so if you need to stay for a bit longer, then …’

  She was in his way, no doubt about it. If she wasn’t here he’d have turned the entire place upside down – not just the study – morning, noon and night until he found what he was looking for. But since the first night when he’d found her there at the house, he’d started to enjoy her company and he was pretty sure the feeling wasn’t entirely one-sided.

  ‘Are you asking me to stay here, with you?’ He was enjoying this.

  ‘Not with me.’ She blushed. ‘I meant—’

  ‘Relax, I’m trying to make you feel uncomfortable. It’s an irritating habit I have fun with.’ He smiled down at her. ‘But thank you. Staying here is a whole lot better than being woken up by a toddler sitting on my head or sticking his finger up my nose at four in the morning.’

  Her laughter wrapped effortlessly around his ears.

  ‘Do you have a
boyfriend, Rosie?’

  His sudden question took her by surprise.

  ‘Yes. Why do you ask?’

  ‘Because if I had a girlfriend I wouldn’t be too happy about her sharing a house with another man.’

  Rosie bent down to make a fuss of George as he weaved in and out between her ankles. Without looking at Owen she said, ‘It’s not a problem. You can stay here as long as you need and I won’t mention to anyone that you’re here.’ She scooped George into her arms.

  ‘I’ll stay on one condition.’

  She looked up at him again. ‘What?’

  ‘You let me cook dinner for you tonight.’

  *

  She hadn’t intended to ask him to stay. Rosie blamed her over-romanticising the coming home to someone – anyone – and the dream of being part of a real family again. It felt so long since she’d had anything resembling the norm. She also blamed the low feeling she’d felt in the supermarket as she raced around stocking up on food for solo meals with only a cat for company. She blamed her girly instincts last night when she’d heard something on the roof – most likely a possum – and wished Owen could’ve roared up on his motorbike at that very moment.

  She lay on her tummy on the bed, picked up her iPad and clicked on Adam’s name. She knew she had to tell him about Owen, about sharing a house with another man.

  ‘This is a nice surprise.’ Adam grinned into the camera.

  ‘I’m not disturbing you, am I?’

  ‘No. I’ve finished meetings for the day, so I’m all yours.’ His smile faded. ‘What’s up? You’re frowning.’

  Rosie recounted the whole story: Owen turning up in the middle of the night, how he had nowhere else to go, how the house was big enough for two.

  ‘Do you really think this is wise?’ It was his turn to frown.

  ‘It’ll be fine, really.’

  ‘What does your contract say?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter about the contract.’

  ‘Like hell it doesn’t. There’s a reason why you draw one up in this sort of situation. It means everyone knows where they stand, on either side.’

  ‘I know. But—’

  ‘No “buts”, Rosie. You need to call the agency.’

  Was it wrong to be enjoying how possessive Adam was being now? He wasn’t the jealous type, never had been, but this had unsettled him good and proper.

  ‘I’ll pay for you to rent a place in Magnolia Creek,’ he went on. ‘Then you can still take the job.’

  She turned onto her back and rested her legs against the wall. ‘We’ve talked about this. There isn’t much to rent at the moment. And you saw this place on the iPad. It’s massive. I think Owen will be out so much I’ll barely even see him. He’s a property developer and constantly moving around.’

  A sigh came all the way from Singapore.

  She continued her justification for the new house guest. ‘It’s also good to have someone around in case there’s a bushfire emergency.’

  Knowing her personal history, Adam’s voice softened. ‘Fires are highly unlikely, surely?’

  ‘You never know.’ Life could be a game of risk and she knew from painful experience that sometimes you could lose.

  ‘Just don’t let him take advantage of you,’ said Adam.

  She smiled. ‘Of course I won’t.’

  ‘Don’t let him make you cook and clean up after him.’

  She giggled. ‘I won’t.’ Her insides buzzed naughtily when she thought of Owen’s offer to cook tonight. This was a new feeling for her. It was living dangerously given how by-the-book her life was. Usually she knew exactly what was around each and every corner.

  ‘He’ll have me to answer to if he puts one foot wrong,’ said Adam firmly before steering the subject onto safer ground. ‘So, tell me, have you been reading up on all your notes, ready to wow them at your new job?’

  She’d finally managed to use the desk in her room as it was intended rather than as a barricade across her door. ‘I have. I think it’s making me more nervous though.’

  ‘It’ll be good to put all that theory into practice.’

  She smiled back at him. It was five o’clock in Australia, but Singapore was a few hours behind and Adam still had a way to go to finish his day, so they chatted more about her mounting excitement at starting the new job and didn’t mention Owen again.

  By the time Rosie finished her call and descended the stairs, the smell of garlic and something rich and meaty wafted towards her and pulled her into the kitchen to where Owen stood at the cooker. She was about to greet him with a cheerful ‘hello’ but froze when she recognised the tune playing through the speakers.

  He held up a wine glass when he caught sight of her lingering in the doorway. ‘Is red okay?’

  The sounds of the cello coming from the iPod docking station on the sideboard fell over her like a magic spell. She held her breath, torn between closing her eyes and losing herself in ‘The Swan’ by Saint-Saëns or running far away from the speakers that brought back so many memories.

  ‘Rosie?’ Owen stood proffering the glass.

  ‘Yes, please, I’ll have a glass.’ She pointed outside, eager to escape. ‘But I’ll water the garden first.’

  He left the glass on the table and returned to his culinary tasks. ‘I cleared the gutters earlier,’ he said, scraping mushrooms into the pan on the stovetop, his back to her now as he stirred the sizzling mixture. ‘No need to call the handyman in when I’m here.’

  ‘Right.’ She floated outside, well away from the music, and unwound the hose from its holder on the fence near the pool. She turned the tap using all her strength, determined not to ask for any help right now, and started with the largest rose bush, bursting with ruby red flowers. As she sprayed it she watched droplets settle on the silken leaves and run down to the thorns before plummeting into the soil beneath. She moved on to the orange roses, the bush standing at hip height with cupped, pale flowers with hints of peach, thirsty and ready to be taken care of.

  The smell of a home-cooked meal snaked down the garden and attacked Rosie’s stomach as she turned the hose to the lawn. Starting at the back fence, she worked her way backwards towards the rear of the house and the pool. Watering down the grass and cleaning out the gutters were paramount in bushfire season, and she was glad to have Owen pitching in to look after the place.

  When she reached the deck he was waiting for her. He pushed the glass of red into her hand. ‘Here, you take this and let me put the hose away.’

  Without argument, she took the glass and with her other hand wiped her brow, hot from the manual labour even though the sun had eased off in the early evening.

  ‘What type of bird is that?’ Rosie nodded towards the fence behind the rockery as the creature landed.

  ‘He’s our resident lyrebird.’ Owen chuckled. ‘He often stops by for a bit of a chirp and then he’ll be off, back into the bush.’

  The bird stood proudly, black eyes rounded, his beak snapping open and shut as he released a song that sounded like a kookaburra at first and then a car alarm, which, in all honesty, sounded more familiar to Rosie than the sounds of nature all around her now.

  ‘That damn song will have you looking out the window to see whose alarm is going off. I swear he’s doing it for a laugh at our expense.’ Owen wound the hose onto its reel. ‘Come on, almost time to eat.’

  He led the way inside and called over his shoulder, ‘I’ve changed the music too. I got the impression you weren’t keen.’

  Rosie didn’t offer any further explanation on that front. She simply sat at the rectangular pine dining table and sipped her wine as Miley Cyrus belted out ‘Wrecking Ball’. She gazed out the glass doors, over to the bush behind the back garden. The tranquillity of the countryside held as much magic in the fading sun as it did during the best parts of the day.

  Owen cut into her thoughts. ‘I hope you like lasagne.’

  ‘As a matter of fact, it’s my favourite.’

  He toppe
d up both glasses of wine and put the finishing touches to a salad, scattering thin slices of red peppers, red onion and crumbled feta across the top of spinach leaves, rocket and tomatoes.

  ‘You seem to know your way around a kitchen,’ Rosie observed.

  ‘I’ve always enjoyed cooking.’ He poked a knife into the lasagne to check the pasta was soft and then slotted the dish back into the oven. ‘This is one of the more complex dishes I make. Stir fries, meat and two veg, a quick pasta and sauce are usually what I settle on.’

  He brought the bottle of red over to the dining table that ran parallel to the kitchen bench, and sat opposite Rosie. ‘Sorry, am I ruining your view? Should I move?’

  ‘Don’t be daft, it’s fine.’

  ‘Have you ever house-sat this far out of the city?’ He took a sip of the smooth red.

  ‘This is the first time.’

  ‘And do you approve?’

  ‘It’s beautiful.’

  His lips curled into a knowing smile and a strong hand extended over the base of his wine glass. ‘Have you had much chance to explore?’

  ‘Not as much as I’d have liked. But I’ve been to the main street now and got chatting with Bella from Finnegan’s café.’

  His face lit up. ‘She’s great, isn’t she? I bet you didn’t have a chance to escape either. Not before she cornered you for a chat.’

  Rosie giggled. ‘We talked for ages. She thinks a lot of you.’

  ‘Well … what can I say?’ When Rosie rolled her eyes, he asked, ‘So why don’t you have a place of your own?’

  ‘We haven’t got around to buying anywhere yet.’

  ‘We?’

  ‘Me and my boyfriend.’

  ‘Does this boyfriend of yours have a name?’

  ‘Adam.’

  ‘Sorry, I’m being nosey, aren’t I? My usual company in a house is a sleeping bag, an airbed and the smell of renovations. I’m not really fit for human contact.’