Unexpected Delivery Read online

  “My husband isn’t home. He’s a local doctor and is at an emergency at the hospital. He’ll be gone for hours, car crash I think. Hopefully not someone local.” Her hand moved to cover her mouth. “I didn’t mean, um, I hope it’s a visitor, no that’s terrible, just that it’s not someone I know, or he knows . . .”

  “May I come in?

  Mrs Lawrence hesitated.

  The woman didn’t want to let her in.

  Understandable.

  “Yes, yes, of course. I’m baking scones. It is Saturday you kno.,” The woman looked at her quizzically. “You do know that today is Saturday?”

  Vivienne nodded confirmation.

  “Bank employees don’t work Saturdays, do they?”

  “Not usually, no, but I don’t work in Rosebrooke. I’m from Brisbane and only here for a few days and need to get the work done so I can return to the office.” Vivienne had almost said return home, but corrected herself in time.

  Country life offered a mixture of smells. Her senses were on constant high alert: strong and stringent, warm and inviting. Melted butter filled her nostrils, reminding her that she’d skipped breakfast. And the point about there being no food at the cottage had become boring. She couldn’t face food until after this task was complete, anyway.

  Vivienne followed the woman down a short corridor carpeted with a hallway runner in a maze of colour. Rooms spilled off each side until they reached a wide-open kitchen at the back, spanning the width of the home. The mouth-watering aroma arrested her more strongly as she entered a room where the bench tops were covered in flour.

  “Cup of tea?”

  “That would be lovely, thank you.”

  Vivienne looked down to find a little girl tugging on the hem of her skirt.

  “Do you want to play Barbies with me?” A mop of curly brown hair bounced as the child skipped on the spot. Ocean-blue eyes beamed up at Vivienne.

  Vivienne’s heart melted at the thought of her own niece, Giselle, asking a stranger to play with her. She expected the mother to intervene and say they had adult business to attend to and the child should ‘run along’. Wasn’t that what mothers were always saying?

  But no, Mrs Lawrence busied herself at the stovetop with her back turned and ignited the gas flame to make the tea.

  “Okay,” she responded and was taken by the hand and led to a bright and airy living room. Scattered on the floor were multi-coloured Lego pieces and two Barbie dolls.

  “I played with hairdresser Barbie when I was a kid. I thought all girls played with Moxie girls and Monster High dolls now?”

  “I’m not allowed to play with those. My friends do,” Isabelle confessed with a shrug.

  “Who’s this then?” Vivienne asked holding up a perfectly proportioned blonde doll.

  A giggle rose out of the girl. “That’s Barbie, of course.”

  “Silly me.”

  “You can be this one,” Isabella placed another version of the same proportioned doll into her hands.

  “Okay. But how will this work if we are both Barbie?” Then she imitated play, “Hi Barbie, hi Barbie, what do you want to play Barbie. I don’t know Barbie . . .”

  Isabella stared at Vivienne as if she had turned into a monster before her eyes.

  “Here’s our tea.” Rescued by the mother, Vivienne rose from her knees and took the proffered cup. Mrs Lawrence sat in one of the cushioned armchairs placed around the room. The sun streamed in, having finally risen to join them after the rain of last night.

  Colourful paintings lined the walls, and bookshelves jammed with books squeezed into each available crevice.

  Balancing her tea in her lap, Vivienne pulled out the envelope she’d come to deliver.

  “Mrs Lawrence, you are behind in your mortgage repayments. I’ve come to deliver a default notice. Do you know what that is?”

  The lady sipped her tea, taking one then two sips but not speaking.

  “It’s a notice to warn you if you don’t pay your arrears and get the amount owing up to date, the bank will want the house, um, back, or they’ll sell it to recover the money you owe.” Vivienne understood as well as most people, that what went on behind closed doors, no one ever knew. As she looked around she observed a comfortably furnished house with well-fed children and no lack of available resources if the vases and paintings and books could attest to.

  And her husband was a doctor.

  As a lawyer with a full-time income, Vivienne had a home filled with objects. She dressed in high-end couture and ate out most weekends. Her appearance did not belie any secrets, even if her past was a different story.

  “We’re from Brisbane too, Ipswich actually. That’s where we both grew up. Hot, out there, that’s for sure.” The woman grasped her china teacup and saucer, her mind elsewhere, somewhere beyond the bounds of where they sat.

  “Our parents still live out close to there, pretty much have their whole life. They struggled to understand our desire to move here, miles away and without support. But they parented in the seventies. It was so different back then. Before, I had to work full-time and so did Martin. We had two small children who we didn’t spend enough time with. They were in day care five days a week, then I had to do work from home, it was miserable.”

  “What do you do, Mrs Lawrence?”

  “I‘m a primary school teacher.”

  “Has moving here improved things?”

  Mrs Lawrence erupted in a cackle like laugh.

  “Perhaps. Until I guess, until we realised Martin still wasn’t earning enough for us all to live on. Country doctors don’t get paid well. Surprising isn’t it, especially when he’s on call all the time. So, given that you are sitting across from me saying that we will lose our house, the house that we gave up everything for in our previous life to provide us with a new beginning and free of stress, well, no, I don’t think things have improved.” Her lips curled but not in a threatening manner.

  “Do you want me to return when your husband is home?”

  “To say the same thing twice? No, I understand you. I can relay it to him, and show him that anyway.” She motioned to the unopened envelope. Emotion had left her voice bitter and fragile. The white messenger of doom lay on the coffee table separating them. A lavish crystal bowl sat atop it, overflowing with fruit. A soft pat to Vivienne’s arm pulled her back into stark reality.

  “Will you push me on the swing?”

  “Okay.”

  What did it hurt to push the kid on the swing a few times when she’d be forcing them out of their home soon enough? One thing she hadn’t understood when coming to Rosebrooke; how do you force people to pay their mortgage if they don’t have the money?

  What were they supposed to do?

  It had become obvious that none of them had the money because if they did, they’d be paying their mortgage like the good people they were and avoiding the embarrassment of the bank coming to visit. Vivienne’s world had been stretched with the experience. She’d always focused on right and wrong; yes, the bank did deserve their money. And yes, the debt needed to be paid. But the families she’d encountered were not spending money on holidays or new cars or clothes; they were surviving.

  Vivienne wiped at the dirty layer clinging to her skin as she walked back to her cottage. Mud stuck. Heaving a deep-lung sigh, she entered the now familiar home and went straight to her computer. It lay open where the email message remained on the screen.

  Last night she’d three missed calls from the bank, no doubt her supervisor returning her frantic pleas of yesterday.

  Instead, she’d woken to a written message. No one would be coming to replace her. Out of all the employees at McGuires—perhaps up to one hundred—none were available to do this job instead of her. She had to remain in Rosebrooke had been the blunt message—until further notice. Those words in black ink blazed up at her. After reading it this morning she realized she had to keep going, had to complete this job and see it through. Circumstances had forced her here and she w
ould do what she had to. That is why without a further thought she’d headed direct to visit the Lawrences—the next victims. If the job had to be done, there was no point procrastinating and avoiding it. That would make it all the worse. Like last time though, her heart lay heavy in her chest, no righteousness rose to justify her actions or remind her of the right of the bank to act as they were.

  Plus, the town of Rosebrooke had featured in her mind for other reasons.

  Daniel.

  She couldn’t sleep reliving her night at the pub with him: their conversations, the ease of their words, his kindness and sensitivity. Part of her didn’t believe he existed. Vivienne’s doubts increased as the hours crept into morning. He couldn’t be perfect. Those voices niggled away at her but they mixed in with her nerves and worry at delivering the next default notice so she couldn’t decide what emotions belonged to which event.

  Today would be the day she got her stuff together. If she had to be here for a while longer, she’d get provisions. Checking no further messages waited for her attention, Vivienne left with leaden feet for the co-op. She would not set foot inside Marchants. Out of loyalty or fear, she couldn’t decide.

  ##

  “It was you.”

  Vivienne had opened the back door in response to loud banging. It slammed against the wall as it pushed open.

  Startled, she stepped back. Only moments before she’d been sipping tea and lounging in the chaise in the snug back room of the cottage as the last of the day’s sun streamed in. She’d been curled up reading a magazine. Daniel loomed over her, his face contorted. A voice she didn’t recognise and words laced with steel and his features scrunched up with the force of controlling his emotions.

  He held the greyed envelope aloft. It crumpled under the pressure of his grip.

  “How could you? You didn’t say a thing. All through the hours we sat at the pub having dinner, talking about everything. You never mentioned that you worked for the bank and that you were planning on taking my property from me?” His venomous voice rang out but the vitriol fell short. The intonation of his words sounded wrong—like he was on the verge of tears.

  Daniel’s spicy scent of aftershave invaded the space. But the dark circles under his eyes stood out and the lines in his face sank deeper. His body stood deflated and hollow. His fist balled around that envelope until he flung it into the air. They both watched it flutter to the soft carpet.

  Vivienne placed her tea down on the side table.

  “I thought the envelope had been lost.”

  “Lost?”

  “Yes, I couldn’t find it. So much was going on when I came to the farm. The calf, the stress of helping and I lost it.” Vivienne kept her voice calm but avoided eye contact.

  “No, it wasn’t lost. I found it on the grass, loose, flapping about and thought it was rubbish. Meant to have thrown it in the bin. Wish I had of.”

  Daniel stepped forward and stomped on the envelope. If the situation hadn’t been so serious, it would have been comical as she watched him rub it into the plush surface, slipping under his boot.

  Shit.

  She bowed her head. This was all her fault. Not that he had been served with a default notice, but that she hadn’t been clear last night. She could have prevented this scene. But then, she clasped onto the enjoyment of the night and wanted it to last, fearful, that it had all been a dream or would not happen again. That he’d discover who she was and the perfect image would burst.

  The hot tea she’d drunk crept up her chest, giving her an indigestion-like ache. At the same time, the sun hid behind a cloud, making the room gloomy and threatening. Daniel’s presence further darkened it.

  “I can’t believe you didn’t let me know. After telling you how important the farm was to me. You didn’t even give me a clue.” His eyes swam in a pool of hurt. The icy chill to his voice sent goose bumps erupting over her skin.

  “Do you think I want to be here delivering you a default notice? It isn’t much fun and yes, I do understand how devastating it is. But, it’s my job. I’ve been sent here to especially serve it on you and provide some assistance in rectifying it and managing your finances better.”

  They faced each other head on.

  Daniel had his balled fists at his sides, his neck stiff and eyes lethal, daggers aimed at her. Heat inflamed his face and she thought he would explode at any minute.

  He kept breathing in and out to measure his reactions. It was working and she admired him for that. She berated herself. It wasn’t possible to be angry at his reaction, God, she’d delivered the bloody thing and had received similar reactions from her previous two encounters. He couldn’t be blamed, could he?

  Of all the times, right now, she remembered his full lips on her cheek, his warm breath and the strength of his words and hands. His presence mesmerised her and muddled her thoughts. Despite it all she still wanted those arms to hold her in their tight embrace.

  Time to come clean. Vivienne owed him.

  “I work for McGuires Metropolitan Bank. I do not work in their repossession section, but that person is on maternity leave.” She paused, not sure why she added that, but it seemed important. “And I’m filling in for her. Regardless of who did it, you were going to be served with a default notice.”

  Her voice rose a notch. “If you do not pay your mortgage repayments over a long period of time, the bank will not be happy. What did you think would happen? Nothing? That you can not make your payments on the house and farm and there be no consequences?” Vivienne sank back into the sofa chair, shocked at her outburst and at its awful truth. She couldn’t alter the facts, or the history.

  Daniel remained standing, his fists still balled by his sides, his jaw clenched. Vivienne could see the pulse beating out of his neck. His body stood rigid, like a volcano about to burst. His eyes scanned the area, before settling on a half-full Bunyatree Dairy milk bottle sitting alone on her kitchen bench. She’d used it to make her tea.

  Without a word, he walked toward it and grasped it in his hand. With one swing, he threw it out the open back door. Vivienne heard it collect with the garage and splinter, falling to the ground. She jumped up and looked out the bay window. Raindrops of white scattered the shed wall and covered the small patch of grass like snow.

  Daniel roared like an animal in pain and half-collapsed, bent over himself. This, more than his icy words that pierced her heart and the exploding milk bottle, quickened her pulse.

  She’d caused this pain. Bile rose to her throat and she dry-retched. At the sight of the devastated man, her heart sliced in two and she ached for him. It felt like a knife ripping through the surfaces of her tummy and twisting and turning.

  As he rose back to full height, he stared into her eyes. Sweat droplets sat on his brow and he gripped his Akubra hat in his hand.

  “My life is ruined. How will I survive? Where will my family live? How will I make a living?”

  “Family?”

  He looked at her oddly. “Yes, family, I have two children, twins aged six.”

  Vivienne shook her head. He’s not so perfect after all. She thought he’d been honest and she’d been the deceitful one. How do you have a conversation over many hours and not mention you had children? Not one, but two. The man in front of her morphed into someone different; someone she didn’t know. Now, they were even.

  “I guess you have a wife, too?”

  “My wife died three years ago in a farming accident.”

  Oh shit, they weren’t even.

  Daniel held his head in his hands.

  “I’m sorry.” For what she wasn’t sure: his dead wife; taking his farm; working for the bank—the list seemed endless.

  “I’m sorry, too.” He held her gaze, placed his hat back upon his head and dragged his feet to the door. “Sorry about the milk.”

  The quiet of the room engulfed her after Daniel left. The sun had dipped and disappeared and the day had turned into night. She sank into the comfort of the chair and sat on the m
agazine with its glossy cover and picture-perfect model on the front. Vivienne threw it across the room where it landed with its pages flapped and open.

  Tears rolled down her cheeks. The sobs erupted and she gulped for air. Her safe and secure existence slipped away. She might escape these events and one day return to Brisbane, but she felt irreparably changed. In this position, she ruined people’s lives. She’d tried to ignore it and blame it on her work ethic and it’s just her job. None of it sat comfortably.

  And, just to add to her woes, she’d opened a piece of her heart, the same organ she’d kept locked away and frozen for decades. Now, it had begun to thaw and soften and she didn’t know if she wanted to harden it again.

  Her mother always said a good cup of tea fixed most things. Vivienne reached for the tepid cup sitting on the side table and walked to the kitchen to make another. Let’s hope her mother was right.

  Chapter Seven

  Hours later, when the sun had set and the night sky filled with stars, Vivienne still sat in the chaise lounge in the back room of the cottage. The magazine had been abandoned and numerous cups of tea gone cold. She wasn’t upset, not really. Annoyed and pissed off was more accurate. Annoyed at herself for being so gullible, and pissed off that things had not turned out as she expected. And anger, too, if she was honest, at Daniel being such a cad.

  After her encounters with him, she’d convinced herself he wasn’t like other men. He had been gentle, vulnerable and sensitive but all man. Strong and capable. An unusual combination. Too perfect? Maybe that is where she went wrong? No one is perfect. She struggled to accept she’d been wrong and a wave of disappointment swelled within her tummy, a tsunami of discontent. She couldn’t believe she’d been so stupid. History told her men could not be trusted and their job was to control and manipulate and tell women what to do and think. And when all else failed, they had to resort to violence with their brawn over women’s physical weakness. It was a belief she held strong from childhood and one that no man had been able to budge. Until now, in Rosebrooke, with Daniel, Vivienne thought she’d found the exception. That what her sister and others had told her—that not all men were like this–had become reality.