Stan (8 page)

Chapter Fourteen

Stan

I can’t believe
I’m doing this.

Risking life and
limb, I climbed over the apex of the games room roofline holding on with a
white-knuckled intensity as I reached out. My face turned bright red as I
stretched as far as I could manage, my fingertips grazing the edge of the
Sherrin footy that was nestled rather snuggly on the edge of the gutter.

Bloody kids.

“Can you get it?”
yelled an anxiously awaiting Samuel Becket. The only thing visible past the
edge of the roofline was his mop of fire-red hair. If the sun glinted on him
the wrong way I was in trouble of being blinded from the glare.

“Almost,” I said.
One final breath and a stretch so far out, I swear I could feel my shoulder
dislodge from its socket.

“Got it!”

“Yaaaay!” A chorus
of cheers sounded from below; Samuel and his little brat pack of his sister and
cousins jumped up and down for joy. I tucked the footy under my arm and
carefully manoeuvred my way back across the roof and gingerly down the ladder,
which Samuel’s eldest sister, Rebecca, was holding steady.

“Thanks, Bec,” I
said, skipping the last few steps and then jumping to the ground.

“Phew! Here you
go.”

“Thanks, Stan.”
Rebecca sighed and clutched the footy, looking up at me all dreamy-eyed like I
was some kind of hero who saved the life of a kitten or something. Her trance
was mercifully broken by the thudding of little feet.

“Thanks, Stan,”
Samuel said, snatching it out of his big sister’s hands.

“No worries, but
next time, go over to the park and play kick, okay?”

“Don’t worry,
Stan, I’ll make sure they do,” Rebecca said with authority. At a guess, Samuel
was twelve and Rebecca was fifteen, so I wasn’t quite sure how that would work.
Samuel screwed his face up at her like that wasn’t going to happen.

The look didn’t go
unnoticed by Rebecca. “You will do as I say, Sam, otherwise I’m telling Mum and
Dad,” she warned.

“Well, maybe I’ll
tell Stan what you write in your diary,” he teased, making kissy-kissy motions
and hugging his shoulders.

Rebecca turned a
deep crimson, a murderous glare shadowing her face. “Don’t. You. Dare.”

And that was my
cue to leave.

“All right, then,
be good. Especially you, Samuel,” I joked, rubbing his head on the way past.

Rebecca blinked
out of her terminator vision and smiled sweetly. “’Bye, Stan.”

Aside from my
unplanned rooftop football emergency, I was ahead of schedule. I had gotten up
with the sun, had a cup of coffee and a bowl of Nutri-Grain (the breakfast of
champions), and dropped a few Beroccas in a glass of water to stem off the
hangover that threatened to take me down.

It’s not that I
forgot about sleeping beauty who was no doubt nestled in a cocoon of comfort
still, but with my head pounding and a list of things to do, I really didn’t
fancy going in to poke the bear. There was no time or patience for that. There
was probably little to no chance she would do any of the chores on the list
anyway and I was in no mood to fight about it.

I sat on the steps
of the verandah struggling to untangle the cord from the whipper snipper.

“Son of a bitch!”
I gritted as I wrestled with the fluro yellow cord from hell.

“Charming!”

My head snapped
around. First I saw legs, legs that led to little night shorts and a skimpy
singlet top. Had she been wearing that when she came into my room last night?
Jesus, how buzzed had I been? It was like I was seeing her for the first time.
She had used one of the throws off the back of the lounge like a cape tied over
her shoulders as she nursed a cup of coffee. Her eyes were squinting against
the daylight, and her short black hair stood up like a cockatoo crest. I had to
look away to stop myself from laughing.

“Sleep well?” I
managed, trying desperately to change tact.

“Oh, yeah, like a
baby,” she replied, her words dripping with sarcasm as she padded across the
deck and filled in the spot opposite me on the steps. She wrapped the rug
around her legs, thank God, as it was hard enough to concentrate on the task at
hand. Bad enough that the steps weren’t that wide and our knees were nearly
touching. I kept my eyes down, but even so, I was ever aware as Bel placed the
coffee aside, the rug slipping down as she stretched her arms to the sky
yawning, her top lifting to expose her stomach as she ran her hands through her
hair.

“So what do you
want me to do first?” She sighed.

My head lifted
with a double take.

What?

Bel rolled her
eyes. “What do you want me to do first?” she repeated.

I felt like it was
a trick question; I was almost afraid to answer for the fear she might leg it
down the drive. It was too good to be true. A simple question: no fighting, no
arguing, no blackmailing. There had to be a catch, so I looked at her warily.

“Sweep the
verandah.” I said it almost like a question.

I thought I would
ease her into it, and if we hadn’t managed to kill each other after that one
chore, maybe I could break cleaning to the toilets to her.

Bel nodded, taking
a sip of her coffee. “Okay, sounds like a job for pants though.” She smirked.

“Yeah, well, most
jobs around here are,” I agreed.

“Unless you’re
playing the air drums.” She stood, looking at me pointedly, before making her
way to the screen door and swooshing her cape inside.

I smiled at the
memory of last night.

Smooth Stan,
real smooth.

***

“Right! This is
called a broom. You hold it here and push it forward like this, in a sweeping
motion, to remove things like dust, dirt, and debris. This is a dustpan. You
use it to collect said dust, dirt, and debris to transfer into a thing we like
to call a bin. Repeat after me … BIN.”

Bel stood beside
me, her hands on her hips, the expression in her eyes shooting me daggers. She
didn’t seem to be enjoying my running commentary. Shame. I thought I was
hilarious.

“Any suggestions
where I might store the broom afterwards? Because I could give you a few
suggestions,” she said in all seriousness.

“Thanks, but not
necessary. Let me know when you’re done,” I said, passing her the broom and
dustpan.

I wanted to add
enjoy
,
but I didn’t want to push my luck; as it was, I had gotten far more than I
bargained for. Bel actually agreeing to pitch in. After last night, I was
certain she would have been long gone before sun up.

“I’m just going to
go and clean the pool filter out, do you think you will be right?”

Bel’s eyes
widened. “You’re leaving?”

“I won’t be long.”
I frowned; surely she could manage sweeping until I got back.

“Well, what if
someone comes? You know to check in, or out, or I don’t know, what’s something …
office-y?”

Something
office-y?

I had so rarely
seen vulnerable Bel, that this was kinda cute. Since when did Bel Evans become
cute and vulnerable?

I sighed. I guess
she had a point. I could flip the ‘be back in five’ sign but I was thinking
this would take me longer than that, and then I had to tackle painting the
shed. Maybe now was a good a time as any to show her the ropes with all things
‘office-y’.

“Okay, down tools.
I’ll show you the basics. Come on.”

Chapter Fifteen

Bel

Now this was
more like it.

Compared to
sweeping the verandah or, heaven forbid, cleaning the toilets, something I had
hoped Stan had entirely forgotten about—ha, I should be so lucky—this was
doable. Instead I sat back in a high-back ergonomic chair with my hands linked
behind my head, the air conditioner on full blast. In between sipping on my
ice-cold can of Solo from the vending machine, I would feast on the
complimentary mints Stan’s mum kept on the counter, and then make my next bold
move on solitaire on the computer. I had a clear view down the drive toward
where the pool was, so I would be able to see Stan coming from a mile away.
Sa-weet! This was the life.

Everything was
simple enough; there was a bookings book, and all sites were taken except for a
few cabins that were vacated this morning. Apparently Stan had already seen and
cleaned those, thank God! In fact, Stan had pretty much done a lot of things. I
didn’t hear him get up this morning, but as far as I could see, he was an early
riser for him to possibly get all this stuff done before noon. I wasn’t totally
unconvinced he was Superman, because if he was affected in any way by the skin
full of beer he had last night, he wasn’t showing it.

Maybe all those
empty beers weren’t his? Maybe some belonged to Ringer or Ellie?

Ellie.

I wondered what
time she left? Did Stan walk her out and kiss her goodbye, or did she stay for
a while and that’s why he was half-naked in bed. I didn’t want to think about
that, shaking it from my mind and focusing instead on which card to select.

Stan’s mobile
number was written in blue pen and tacked to the top of my computer screen in
case of emergencies. He made it quite clear that a footy being kicked onto a
roof was not an emergency. Whatever that was about. He seemed pretty adamant
that blood was the only emergency to be contacted about; arms stuck in vending
machines also another incident deemed an emergency. Duly noted. I really just
nodded along to everything he said to herd him out the door; he probably
thought I would keep sweeping or something, but meh, that dust was going
nowhere. I think my talents were far better utilised at mission control.
Sitting in my oversized office chair like I was Captain Kirk on
Star Trek
.

Pfft, sweeping
verandahs and cleaning toilets. I had much better things to do. For instance, I
spent a good two minutes straightening up the tourist information booklets, a
thankless task that would go unnoticed. I mean, when it came to business, first
impressions were everything. I busied myself with more administrative tasks like
checking all the pens had ink in them. One didn’t. Crisis averted, dead pen
chucked in the bin. I sharpened pencils, restocked paper in the printer, and
spent a generous amount of time pulling a long, damp tendril of hair over my
eyes, marvelling at the length and how much my hair had grown as I studied for
any split ends. It was a tiresome task and one that had my full attention until
my eyes blinked past my hair at the sound of a thundering V8 black Ute pulling
up in the drive.

I gasped. Someone
was here.

Shit.

I flung my legs
down from the desk, jumping to attention. I clicked off the computer screen
from the games, at the same time upending the jar of Kool Mints off the
counter, spilling and rolling them everywhere with a clatter.

Oh shit,
no-no-no-no …

I fell to my knees
working frantically to scoop up the white rolling balls, cursing that they
weren’t made into a square shape instead of rolling on and on and on under
cupboards and drawers and places never to be seen again. I scooted around the
desk, clawing my way to gather and clear the mess that was trailing to the
door, scooping and gathering them back into the jar.

But it was too
late.

The bell jingled
above the door. I froze; the sound rang in my ears causing my blood to run cold
as two dust-covered boots entered my vision. On my hands and knees I watched
them step through the door, crunching directly onto a Kool Mint and pausing.
Maybe it was from the feeling of the unexpected crunch underfoot or the sight
of a girl flailing on the ground chasing mints that caused them to stop. Either
way, I was afraid to look up, to follow the line of the jean-clad legs and find
out who they belonged to. And before I could work up the nerve to do just that,
the mint-smashing stranger saved me from myself. He crouched down.

My eyes finally
moved up to a friendly face, and beautiful eyes that almost smiled too through
the wisps of his dark honey-blond hair.

“You okay?” He
posed the question with guarded amusement, spoken gently as if he was frightened
of spooking the wild animal on all fours before him. Gee, lucky I had
straightened the tourist information brochures otherwise I would have
absolutely no dignity intact.

The sex god held
out his hand, which I eagerly took as he helped me to my feet. I laughed in
good humour, dusting the invisible dust from my knees.

“Oops,”
I said quietly in front of this
hotter-than-hell man who looked like he had stepped out of a Levi Jeans ad.

“Sorry, I just
upended a jar of mints.” I winced. “I’m not usually on my hands and knees.”

Oh God, Bel,
just shut up!

“Unless of course
I upend a jar of mints.” I laughed nervously.

I really needed
to just stop talking.

Sex God bent over
to pick up a few wayward mints near the door; he studied them with a bemused
smirk. “It’s a shame they don’t make them square.”

I grinned broadly;
goofishly. “That’s what I think,” I said a bit too high-pitched.

His smile was
sinful. “Great minds think alike.” He shuffled the handful of mints to free up
his right hand that he held out to me. “I’m Max.”

I quickly shifted
the jar to my left, taking his hand. “Belinda, but people just call me Bel.”

Max crushed my
hand in a bone-breaking firm shake that would make any man proud; I did my best
not to wince and was glad it was over as quickly as it was.

Our goofy grins
were interrupted by that infamous doorbell that would chime in my nightmares,
followed by that dreaded crunching sound of smashed mints.

Seemed Max missed
a few near the door. I bit my lip and took in the sight of Stan lifting his
shoe up as he flipped his sunnies onto the top of his head. His brows raised
taking in the sight before him: me, Max, and a sea of scattered white pebbles.

“Everything under
control?” he asked with uncertainty.

“Oh, yeah. Um,
sorry, mate, I’m afraid I’ve trashed your office.” Max cut me off from
speaking. “I knocked over the jar by accident.” He grimaced.

Stan’s mood
lightened. “Oh, no worries, it happens.”

Ha! I couldn’t
help but lift my brow. Somehow, I thought, if he had known I had actually done
it, I bet he wouldn’t have been so forgiving.

“So, how can we
help you?” Stan asked.

Oops, I hadn’t
even thought to ask that.

“I know it’s a
long shot, but I was wondering if you had any cabins available? There’s nothing
in town.”

“Actually, you’re
in luck,” Stan said, brushing past me and heading for the reservations book. I
simply stood to the side clutching the mint jar, feeling like an idiot, until
Max threw me a friendly wink and rested his elbows on the reception desk as
Stan searched through the book.

“How long are you
planning to stay for?” asked Stan.

“Well, I’m not
sure—a few weeks. Is there a limit?”

“Not for the
cabins. Number seventeen isn’t pre-booked at all, so you can crash there as
long as you want. We have a discounted rate for long term.”

“Great, I’ll take
it.”

“All right, just
need to fill out some things and I’ll take a copy of your licence.”

I only realised I
was actually staring at Max when Stan said my name.

“Bel?”

“Yes?” I double
blinked into the present.

Max was busy
filling out the booking form so he didn’t see the not-so-nice look Stan was
giving me.

“How about you
grab the broom and dustpan?” he asked.

I smiled sweetly.

Yes. Master.

“Sure.” I placed
the jar back on the counter. “Nice to meet you, Max.” I smiled.

Max looked up,
peering through the wisps of his dirty-blond hair. “You too, Bel. Sorry about
the mints.” He winked again.

We gave each other
a knowing look, a little secret that we were bonded together by.

“Just make sure it
doesn’t happen again,” I said sternly.

“Oh, don’t worry,
it won’t.” He nodded.

The only person
who didn’t find our little exchange funny was Stan, who sighed not too subtly
and looked at me with a bored and unimpressed expression.

“I’m going.” I
mimed.

Geez, what a
killjoy.

***

I finished
sweeping the verandah first; seeing as though it was the job I was set to do
earlier, I didn’t need another reason for Stan to be pissed at me. It also
seemed like a better idea to wait until the coast was clear to clean up the
mint fiasco. I watched on as Stan and Max made their way out of the office,
crunching a path down the drive, heading toward the cabins housed a short
distance away. I waited until they were out of sight before I quickstepped back
to the office and began to sweep like a mad thing. I got what I suspected was
the very last mint visible to the naked eye before I dumped them into the bin.
I thought better against putting them back in the jar; they were well past the
three-second rule. Clicking the mouse to close the screen saver, I quickly
disposed of the solitaire evidence and took it back to the desktop, just like I
was never there. I was about to make my way out from behind the desk when I
took the chance to peer into the reservations books and the filled-in paper.

Max Henry

3409 Moira Station

Ballan

Hmm, seemed like
Mr Max Henry was a long way from home.

I moved the papers
back into place, giving the room the final once-over. Yep, it was like I was
never even there, as long as no one ever looked under the cupboards.