The Wrong Girl (16 page)

Lily rubbed her eyes with her hands. She had been in this fucking food-tour meeting for two hours and was hungry, exhausted and flirting dangerously with delirium. Nikkii had cancelled at the last moment – via text – because she was at a lunch that had run over and had to stay. Lily, obviously, was devastated.

Dale was his usual chatty self, speaking up every forty-five minutes or so when he had a fact to contribute or a made-up Lily fact to correct; otherwise he focused on typing up the confirmed call-and spreadsheet as they locked down the final itinerary. Jack, who had insisted on attending the meeting, was yammering away about the country fair they'd be going to as their closing stop, which happened to be very close to his hometown. He'd been going to that fair since he was a kid, and his grandma used to win the scone-baking contest year after year. In Jack's three years of trying, he had never even cracked the bronze. To say he was determined this year was like saying Dubai was warm. Lily thought his exuberance and energy regarding scones was, quite frankly, preposterous; although she had to concede she liked the idea of seeing where he'd lived and grown up, and which restaurant he'd worked in. Should they have time. Which they definitely would not.

Planning the tour, getting the appropriate budget for it, dealing with pedantic small-town councils for approval and organising transport and accommodation had all been incredibly stressful, but it
did
feel like they were about to head off on school camp. On the road together, travelling around, staying in a selection of Australia's tackiest, most suicidal motels from Monday through to Friday before returning to Sydney to assume some semblance of a normal life over the weekend before the tour resumed for the second and final week.

As Lily listened to Jack discuss the meal he had planned for their last event, she found herself daydreaming about the two of them, cruising down the highway in the wonky old truck, singing along to Fleetwood Mac, him glancing over at her with a smile every so often . . .

In reality, there was a team of six
Daily
staff schlepping to each location, along with the truck, which was to be driven carefully and painstakingly slowly by Grimmo, lest it suddenly blow up or putter out and die. And while technically Lily
would
be in a car (minivan packed to its roof with
The
Daily
promotional material) cruising down the highway each day, she would be with a carsick Dale and an incessantly-on-the-phone Siobhan. The crew and gear would fill another two vans and a truck, and Jack would drive his ute.

Lily snapped herself back to attention by standing up and announcing she needed a tea, and would anyone else like one.

‘I'm good,' Jack said, as he wrote something down. She hadn't seen him this excited about anything, ever. He was
extremely
pumped to be out of the studio, on the road, being hands-on in the truck and going to parts of the state he'd never been before. Dale shook his head almost imperceptively, so Lily walked out to the kitchen.

Returning five minutes later, she found a Dale-free zone.

‘Where's Dale?' she asked Jack, who was still scribbling madly. God forbid he just type his notes directly into a laptop. Lily wasn't even sure he had one.

‘Had to go, picking up his mum from work, I think he said.'

Lily stifled a giggle and Jack looked up.

‘Don't be mean.'

‘I didn't say a thing,' she said, sitting down and wishing there was red wine in her mug, not Earl Grey.

‘We're pretty much done now, anyway, right? I said he was fine to go.'

‘True. I just need to make sure all these T-shirts and banners are sorted, and that the burners in the truck are full of gas . . . actually you don't need to be here, either.'

‘Would be a real shame if there was no gas. I could always just make some ham sangas, I guess.'

‘Oh, hey, I emailed Sim and told her she should drive down to the South Coast next Friday so you guys could spend the weekend down there, or at least a night?' Lily said, feeling quietly pleased with her wonderful and encouraging support of their relationship. ‘It's
beautiful
. Have you been to Jervis Bay?'

‘Mmm, she'll be away, I'm pretty sure,' he said, writing again. ‘She's pretty flat chat at the moment.'

‘Ah, shit, you're right. Hawaii or something.'

He finally full-stopped his work and closed his notepad, capping his pen as he looked up at Lily. He was flaunting a three-day growth and it looked tremendous. Especially with his black-rimmed spectacles, which Lily had never seen him wear before, but which made him look like he should be wearing a three-piece suit and striding purposefully through the city streets.

‘Hey, Lil, do you reckon you could give us a hand when we do the pancakes on day four? Dale says he can't cook, but I'll need help, I reckon, just for speed, and apparently that's the one day the intern isn't around.'

‘Sure. I may be a shit cook, but I know how to pour maple syrup.'

‘You're not a shit cook, you're just a lazy one who has never tried.'

She prickled.

‘I'm happy to teach you, you know,' Jack continued. ‘You've got everything in place except the actual cooking part. You're great at choosing recipes and all the prep —'

‘And eating.'

‘And eating. Now I just have to get you to turn the oven on.'

‘Good luck with that. If my own mother can't get me cooking, I doubt
you
can.'

‘You'd be surprised at what I can make people do,' he said, standing up and pushing his chair in. A rash of heat spread over the back of Lily's neck. She stared at the bottom of her mug and took a huge sip of tea.

‘See ya, Woodward. Have a good night.' And he walked out of the boardroom.

‘You're looking very trim in that pic you texted, are you on that lemon juice cleanse thingy?'

‘Really? Oh, I was
dying
for you to notice! I have lost three whole kilos.
Three kilos!
Unheard of. I almost need new jeans.'

‘Well, you're looking great, Mimi. So, any hanky-panky yet? Actually, gross. Forget I said that.'

Lily was treacherously overtired and two energy drinks off seeing small twinkling fairies somersault through the air. She was surprised she'd even managed to remember to call her mother back. Sitting on the ground, in the dirt, she felt exhaustion in every cell of her body. It had been almost two weeks of fourteen-hour days travelling around the state doing the segment live on location, and serving up food and Jack to delighted fans (women) and confused locals (men), but it was being referred to as the ‘wildly successful'
Daily
Food Truck Tour by Sasha and ‘Eliza's legacy' by stupid Nikkii, but that was to be expected.

‘I haven't wanted to call you because I know how busy you are, but I've been gasping to chat, Bean. He is such a
gentleman
: car doors, pulling out chairs, all of those ridiculous things I never thought I cared about . . . I honestly cannot remember the last time I felt this way  . . .' Mimi's voice started to tremble slightly. In Lily's exhausted state, a tear quickly welled in her eye.

‘You so deserve it . . .' Lily's voice was equally unsteady. She needed sleep. Urgently. She'd become emotional seeing a three-legged dog hop along today; things were dire. Lily wiped her eye and pushed her hair behind her ear. It really was very dusty down here on the ground. And dirty. Why the fuck was she sitting here?

‘He's even talking about flying over to join me on my trip . . . Speaking of which, there's something I need to tell you . . . Bean, I've decided to shout you an airfare to Greece for your birthday!'

‘No!
You can't afford that, Mimi. You're mad!'

A couple of rogue tears snuck down Lily's cheek; it was all too much right now.

‘I'm flying on points, and that's none of your business anyway. So: will you come? Oh, it will be magic! Soaking up the sun, drinking wine, just the two of us . . . May is hot, but not oppressively so, and all the tourists haven't started flooding in yet . . . It's the ideal time to go, really.'

Lily failed to think of one decent objection. Why
shouldn't
she go to Greece for her thirtieth? she thought. What thing could be so great back here that could stack up? A party where Simone and Jack would be all over each other? A night out with Alice at a feral pub? It wasn't like there was anything she'd be missing out on.

Lily screwed her mouth over to one side, exhilaration starting to fizz and bubble in her stomach. Yes.
Yes!
She
would
go to Europe. Mimi had been desperate for Lily to join her on her adventures for years, and Lily had always had an excuse. But this time, none came to mind. She might even quit
The Daily,
and take a month off to consider her next move. Who knew. The food-truck tour could kind of act as her swan song.

Yes. She would go. Even if she did stay on at the show, she was going. She had about sixty years of leave owing anyway. Greece would give her thinking time.

‘Do you know what, Mimi? I would love to join you.'

Lily wanted to kick Dale. Or, better still, one of the interfering old ducks running the fair, who repeatedly reminded Lily that they needed to move the truck because it was on the ‘good grass'; that and they didn't have permission to park it there, and it should be over on the designated ‘parking grass'. She'd happily kick anyone, in fact. She was tired, and so shitty, and scratchy from all the celebratory wine at last night's final dinner, before the tour ended today. To top it off, someone had forgotten all of the gift bags, so she was now faced with a gathering mass of people who wanted their much-hyped, over-promised goodie bags, and there weren't any.

Lily noticed with absolutely no surprise that ninety per cent of the crowd were young women with far too much perfume, make-up and cleavage for a Sunday country fair. At least it was sunny. Lily took a second to look at the brilliant blue sky as she made her way back to the ‘set', which went on forever with not one cloud to puncture it. Jack must have had a beautiful childhood out here in the middle of nowhere with his big family and numerous dogs. How different to Lily's urban, single-mother, security-building apartment upbringing.

He'd been in terrific form all morning, whipping up gourmet, local-produce-only bacon and egg rolls with caramelised onions and aioli at lightning speed for the salivating, frenzied, mob. Not even running out of gas had fazed him. Lily had tried to get more from some of the other food tents, but they completely ignored her. After all, the
hide
of the Big City girl sabotaging their chance of making some coin that day, after already dishing up free food, a show, and all-day hunk-viewing to their potential customers.

‘Mackenzie, can you please find something,
anything
, in the van or truck to give these people waiting for their goodie bag? Or  . . . failing that, get Dale's camera and take proper photos of them with Jack and the truck and their email addresses, and tell them we will email them the professional photo, as if we'd meant it all along. And then, tomorrow, do it. I'm sorry . . .'

Originally Lily had unfairly picked Mackenzie to be a Nikkii clone due to her pretentious name and passion for very tight leather-look jeans and dizzying heels; she was, in fact, an incredibly hardworking, clever and intuitive intern. Lily wished she could swap her for Dale. And Nikkii.

‘I think all we have in the van are bumper stickers, will they do?'

‘Great. Grab them. Bumper stickers and photos it is. Whoever said
The
Daily
was cheap?'

Lily took a quick call from Sasha, who had called to wish them luck for the final show and reiterate how fantastic the tour had been. She also gave Lily and the team tomorrow off, which Lily had been hoping for with aggressively pre-emptive resentment, since they had worked all weekend. She noted with chagrin that Sasha shouldn't be calling to check up on and congratulate them,
Nikkii
should. Both Lily and Sasha knew it, but Nikkii was in LA doing a film junket and wouldn't have a clue what Lily was up to, save for the fact it involved food, a truck and Jack, the guy who had rebuffed her advances, wasn't on Facebook and was therefore dead to her.

Lily wondered if she could really quit. Whether it was exhaustion, or the Nikkii factor, or the lack of Alice, or just the clarity that came from being away from the studio, she felt she very much could. Sasha would be disappointed. Would Jack? Was she leaving him high and dry? Jack was inside the truck, leaning with his back against the counter, gulping down a bottle of water. The eventing crew had finally roped off the area to give the guy a rest, but that didn't stop the teenage girls milling around, yelling at Jack, taking photos, and giggling when he looked over and smiled.

‘Boy oh boy, Bacon Billy, that was some show you put on today.' Lily peered up at him from the ground.

He immediately turned to face her, a happy grin on his face. He was
so
happy to be back on home turf, she could tell. He fit in here, she noted. The sky, the mountains and grass, the many, many utes and men in checked shirts; it all made so much sense now.

‘You
just
missed Mum. She was here but had to go because my sister needed an urgent babysitter, but I wanted you to meet her.'

‘Well, heck, I didn't know you brought the whole dang clan down. Do they live on the next farm?'

He smiled wanly. Behind him one of the runners, Felicity, a complete luxury since the budget for Lily's runners had been cut last year, was lazily cleaning his cooking bench and stove, stopping to read from her phone every few minutes. Jack didn't seem to notice or even be irritated by it. He was always so calm, Lily realised. It was very soothing. Maybe that's why she'd been a better producer this year – because her talent was consistent, and talented and fun, and kept a lid on her usual manic panic.

‘Funny. No, they're a good half an hour from here. But we came every year. Oh, and that big scone bake-off Nan used to win? It's in a couple of hours, and I'm about to start on my first-prize scones.'

Lily laughed. ‘Don't you think scones are a bit . . . old-fashioned for a hunky young TV chef?'

He folded his arms and pulled a stern face.

‘This is a family legacy I'm trying to restore here, Lily. Important stuff. Important scone stuff.'

‘Right, yes, of course.'

‘I
have
to win. I've entered the competition the last three years and lost each time to Marg Milton, who must be bribing the committee, because I'm certain mine are better.'

‘You need to practise more. Get Simone to help.'

‘Oh, yeah, she'd really go for all that white flour, milk and jam.'

‘Maybe you should add some chia seeds and flaxseed oil, or at the least some of that lavender or rosewater stuff. She's putting it in everything these days, have you noticed?'

Lily was proud of herself, and the way she talked jovially, normally about Simone with Jack, even though she recognised the flip-flops in her stomach in his presence as the kind generally reserved for Men She Quite Fancied. So what! Over the tour she had made a deal with herself that there was no harm in having an innocent, private crush on Jack. God,
everyone
did, from Mackenzie through to Sasha. Even Grimmo seemed especially fond of him. Nothing would come of it, no harm done, and it made work fun. Whatever.

Jack nodded slowly; his brow was creased, deep in thought.

‘Jack?'

He bent down to switch on the oven, then stood up slowly turning back to look at Lily.

‘You might have just given me an idea.' He started pulling things out of the small bar fridge bolted to the back wall: eggs, milk, butter.

‘Flaxseed oil?' she asked, squinting up at him.

‘Can you drive a manual?'

‘Yeah . . .'

‘Do you remember passing through that town about ten minutes back from here?'

‘Yeah . . .'

‘How would you feel about driving there in my ute, going to the deli across the road from the post office, and getting some rose-water? Love some apple cider vinegar too, if you can. I've run out.'

‘Um, Jack, I can't drive that thing.'

‘Course you can! I would do it but I need to start the mix' – he looked at his watch – ‘to have the scones on the judges' table by three.'

‘I could do that bit?' Lily offered vaguely.

He gave her an affectionate are-you-kidding look.

‘It's near the van. It's a touchy clutch, go easy. And go slow on the dirt, it's a magnet for accidents.' He took a single black car key from his back pocket and handed it to her.

‘Gee, sounds
fun
,' Lily said sarcastically. But he was back facing the bench, pulling still-drying mixing bowls off the drying rack – this was not a dishwasher zone – and yanking open drawers looking for the perfect scone-making utensils.

Lily didn't have a choice. She was going to have to drive that beast along a dodgy dirt road and get this fucking flower water. Great idea, dickhead, she chided herself. Key in her hand, she began walking in the direction of his ute, feigning confidence in the same way she might approach a large mare who could sense her fear.

Dale was packing the van when she reached it. He looked up at her. ‘ETD is one p.m, correct?' Lily pulled her phone from her pocket and looked at the time: 12.17. Shit.

‘Yep . . . Hey, Jack needs me to pick up something urgently from town. Mackenzie has done crowd-gifting, and the events team has pretty much cleaned the truck, which Jack actually now needs for a couple more hours. What do we think that might mean in terms of keeping Grimmo back to drive it home a bit later?'

Dale looked at her with the same blank face she assumed he was born with.

‘He will want to leave at one.'

Lily hadn't considered that Jack might not have use of the truck for his scones. She called him, hoping he had his phone in his pocket and, more importantly, that it was at least on vibrate. TV types were forever forgetting to take their phones off silent.

‘You haven't crashed her already, surely.'

‘Thanks for the vote of confidence. No, I've some bad news. Crew, all of us are meant to be heading off in less than an hour. That means the truck. Your bakery.'

‘I'll drive it back later on. Already cleared it with Grimmo.'

‘Oh. Right. Okay then, I'll just get this poncy water for you, in that case.'

‘Two bottles, just to be safe.'

‘Yes, Nigella.'

She hung up the phone, impressed at his pre-emptive strike.

‘Jack will drive it back; I assume Grimmo will be taking the ute. All sorted. If I'm not back by smack on one then
wait
.'

She was sad to not to be able to spend the afternoon watching Jack get competitive with seventy-year-old CWA dollies, but she had to head back to Sydney in the van, so there was no point even thinking about it.

Jack was generous in saying the clutch was ‘tricky'. Lily muttered to herself as she bunny-hopped his big, shiny black ute off the ‘good grass', trying her best not to knock over small children on her way out onto the dirt road that led back into town. Once she'd got more of a handle on it, she allowed herself to feel a tiny bit tough driving a car that made all the men double-take.

As she drove along the dusty trail in the perfect sunshine, she noted the car smelled like Jack, but squared. The leather, the faint trace of his aftershave; the mints he seemed to exist on for most of the day, lodged in the console between the two deep bucket seats. His iPod was connected to the stereo via the cigarette lighter and, when Lily turned on the ignition of the ridiculous V8, she was delighted to hear Paul Simon's voice filter through the speakers. How could a man who enjoyed a monstrous, petrol-guzzling chariot like this enjoy folk music, she wondered, secretly thrilled at the fact, and that she had also finally worked out the exact nanofootpressure to use on the clutch.