Lessons From Ducks (10 page)

“Huh,” she said, forgetting to whisper in her astonishment. Oscar looked up and several of the ducks clambered to their feet, startled.

‘QUACK QUACK’

“Shush, it’s ok, it’s alright,” Oscar soothed them and they settled down again, casting reproachful looks at Anna.

Matt waved a greeting and then led a dazed Anna back to the front of the house.

“But, but how -?” she stammered.

“I take it from your expression that they don’t do that for you.”

She shook her head, outraged. “No, they certainly don’t do that for me, the ungrateful little –” but she didn’t finish the sentence, not being able to think of a word suitable to say in front of him. “They’ve never let me so much as touch a feather,” she said instead. “I feed them and care for them and what do I get for it? A few pecks on the hand if I get too close, that’s what.”

“You shouldn’t take it personally,” Matt pacified her. “The kid has read every book in his school library on the subject of ducks, plus burned through my month’s data plan on the internet in one week. Maybe he picked up a special duck whispering trick you don’t know about.”

“Maybe,” but she didn’t sound convinced.

“You’re not really upset are you?”

“No, not really. It’s nice that he’s made a connection with them. Do I wish it was me instead? I’d be lying if I said no. But it’s just one of those things, no point dwelling on it. Right,” she bent down and picked up her brush, “back to the work I guess.”

“Let me help.”

“No thank you.”

“Please, it’s the least I can do for gate crashing your Saturday.”

“I guess when you put it that way. Here,” she handed him the brush she’d been using. “I’ll get another one.”

He looked at where she’d already almost finished the arch and had just the front section of the gate left to do.

“Where do you want me?”

“I beg your pardon?”

He smirked, aware of how it had sounded and how, he could tell from the pinpricks of colour on her cheeks, she had heard it. “To paint. Where do you want me to paint?”

“Oh right.” She pointed. “There. The whole front of the fence needs doing.”

He frowned. “I can’t paint that.”

“Why not?”

He looked at her as if the answer was blindingly obvious. “Because you can’t even see half the fence, that’s why.”

“You’re exaggerating.”

“I am not.” He walked to the fence and kicked at some stray Ivy that was creeping along the bottom. Then he pointed wordlessly to where long grass poked up and out through the cracks between the boards and lastly he used his arms to sweepingly indicate the delicate baby pink rose that had settled heavily along the top of the fence, draping herself majestically, her flowers perfectly formed and begging to be admired.

“It’s not covering half the fence,” she said when he had finished making his point, “maybe a third.”

He sighed heavily. “I am not going to argue details with you. My point is that I can’t very well paint the fence properly with all this lot hanging all over it, can I.”

“I didn’t ask you paint it properly.”

“I may regret asking this, but explain.”

She walked over to join him, muttering, “This would have gone much quicker if I’d just done it myself.”

“I heard that.”

At the fence she gave him a look she usually reserved for her most difficult customers and then using both arms she gently lifted up a section of the rose. “There, see.”

He crouched down to see what she was showing him and when he did he whistled. “Ok now I’ve seen it all.”

She dropped the rose and brushed her hands against her shorts. “Questions?”

“Yes. Have you always been this lazy?”

“I’m not lazy.”

“What would you call it? He lifted the rose again. Underneath where it normally draped, the fence was old and a faded ivory colour. You could see where Anna had painted
around
the rose, each coat covering less area as the rose had grown bigger, leaving a concentric rainbow of Anna’s previous fence colour choices.

“I call it practical. Why paint an area that no one can see?”

“Because that’s just what you do.”

“Why?”

He struggled to come up with an answer that would beat her child’s logic. “Because you just do, he feebly came up with.

“A compelling argument, but let’s just agree to disagree. You paint your own fence whichever way you choose, and I’ll paint mine the way I like it painted, ok?”

“But…it looks
weird
.”

“Only if you lift the rose up, otherwise you can’t even tell. You never noticed did you?”

“No,” he admitted.

“There you go then. Now if you don’t mind, I would like to finish this job today. You can either help or leave me to it. Which will it be?”

“I’ll help.”

“Fine.” She turned her back on him and walked out to the back shed to fetch a clean paintbrush. When she was around the side of the house she laughed quietly. The expression on his face had really been quite comical. She knew it was the cheats’ way to paint the fence but she was loathe to cut back the beautiful rose, so painting around it seemed the kindest thing to do.  She checked quietly on Oscar on her way back – still happily ensconced in the garden with the adoring ducks – and popped inside briefly to gulp down a glass of cool water. Then she did something that took her completely by surprise. On her way back out she caught sight of her reflection in the old round mirror that hung by an assortment of coats and to her great surprise, she paused
.
Her startled expression in the mirror confirmed the uncharacteristic manner of this action. After all, she passed this mirror several times a day and never stopped to even glance at it. In fact, she’d almost forgotten it was even there. But today, for some reason, she stopped. Today she took a moment to study her image reflectively, and it was just a moment because when she realised what she was doing she flushed, cross with herself.

Matt wasn’t sure what he’d done to earn the particularly irritated glare that was cast his way when Anna rejoined him back out front, but he wasn’t about to ask either. He kept his mouth shut and his brush strokes even.

Chapter thirteen

With the two of them painting the job was finished in another hour. They stepped back off the kerb to admire their handiwork.

“Phew,” said Anna, wiping the sweat off her brow, “it’s hot.”

“That has got to be the understatement of the year,” Matt croaked beside her, “I need water.”

Anna observed his damp hairline and rosy skin. “I’m sorry. I probably should have offered you some before now.”

“A more considerate boss would have.”

“I’m not your – oh. I see, you’re joking.”

He grinned at her.

“I should leave you to suffer,” she said primly. “But for the sake of your son I won’t. Follow me.”

She led him carefully through the gate,

“
Don’t touch the paint”

“Of course I won’t touch the paint!”

Around the house to where the hose and tap were neatly coiled.

“There you go,” she said.

“You’re kidding.”

“What?”

He shook his head, amused. “Nothing, this will do fine.” He uncoiled a couple of metres of hose and turned the tap on, waiting for the first rush of water warmed by the sun to make its way through the pipe. She had turned her back on him, craning to catch sight of Oscar, and he silently whipped his shirt off over his head, thrilled by the feel of the slight breeze against his hot skin. The water started to run cold and he tipped down his head and held the water above it, gasping when it hit his skin.

“Oh god that’s good,” he groaned, letting the water soak though his hair and run down his back and chest. When he was satisfied with the relief that brought him he held the hose in front of him and gulped thirstily from it, not stopping until his thirst was temporarily satiated.

He flicked his hair out of his eyes and shook like a sheepdog, enjoying the sensation of being half naked in the sunshine. Often, during his hours of work, he found himself hot and sticky and bothered by the physical exertion and it was all he could do not to stop himself stripping off like this and doing the same thing with his water bottle. Only the fact that his places of work were generally public, and that he was employed to tend grass not put on a show, stopped him. Today was the culmination of many a hot days fantasy.

“You want a turn?” he asked Anna, who was still facing away from him. She looked over her shoulder and opened her mouth to answer but then she noticed his half naked state of undress. “Oh!” She turned quickly away and sucked in her breath sharply. She started to turn back towards him but stopped, completely at a loss for where she should look.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she asked him.

“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m cooling off after a hard day’s work. I should have thought that was pretty obvious.”

“Oh please. You worked for an hour, that’s it. And what if one of the neighbours sees you?”

“So I’m not wearing a shirt, it’s hardly a big deal.”

“It
is
around these parts,” she said. “Mrs Foster at number 5 would have a heart attack if she saw you like that.”

“Thanks for the compliment.”

“I wasn’t complimenting you.”

He shrugged. “I choose to take it that way.”

“Put your shirt back on,” she ordered him, her back still turned on him and her eyes nervously scanning the six foot fence line in case someone should be spying.

“Why does it bother you so much?”

“It doesn’t bother me,” she lied. “It’s others I’m worried about. What will Oscar think?”

“He’ll think his dad got hot painting a fence and hosed himself off to cool down, which is, incidentally, what happened.”

Anna knew her reaction was over the top, but she couldn’t help it. It had been years since she’d been so close to a half naked man and it was making her nervous. Still, nervous or not, she couldn’t help but notice that working outside was clearly good for him. It was certainly good for muscle definition. She had to fight the urge to sneak another furtive glance.

“That looks like fun,” Oscar had approached them unseen.

Matt squirted the water at him playfully and laughed when he squealed.

“Had enough of the ducks yet?” Matt asked.

“I could never have enough of them. They’re so cool and so, so soft, aren’t they,” he directed this last remark to Anna.

“I’ll have to take your word for it.”

Matt smiled at the bliss radiating from his son’s face. “I think you’ve found your calling in life. A duck specialist, if there is such a thing.”

“There is, it’s called an ornithologist. They don’t just deal with ducks though, they study all birds,” Anna informed them.

“An orni… what now?”

“Ornithologist.”

“You made that up.”

“I did not.”

‘I know, I’m teasing.”

“You have an odd sense of humour.”

“Yes, but odd-weird? Or odd-hilarious.” Matt winked knowingly.

“That doesn’t make any sense. Odd is not a definition of hilarious.”

“Here we go again,” Matt rolled his eyes at Oscar. “Another language lesson.”

“Well if you choose to butcher the English language as you do then you should expect people to correct you.”

“Yet somehow I’ve managed to get through life ok until now.”

“Dad,” interrupted Oscar.

“What?”

“Did we bring a drink?”

“We did,” his dad answered sheepishly, “but I kind of left the bottle in the sun and now the water is boiling.”

“It’s hot but it’s not technically boil –”

“For the love of god,
it’s a figure of speech Anna
.”

“Oh,” she sighed. He really was a difficult one to understand. “Follow me Oscar, I’ll get you something to drink.”

“How come he’s allowed inside and I get the stinky old hose?” Matt called after them.

“Don’t be silly. He’s a child. Of course I’m not going to make him drink from the hose.”

She disappeared into the house with Oscar trailing along behind her.

“I’m not being silly,
you
are,” Matt mumbled childishly as he coiled the hose back up neatly onto its holder. He found them in the kitchen, Oscar sitting at the bench on a tall stool, legs dangling, a tall glass of something clear with bubbles fizzing away in front of him.

Matt peered at the glass. “He even gets ice cubes?”

“For goodness sakes, here,” Anna handed him his own glass, “now stop complaining.”

“Deal,” he accepted the glass happily.

She arched her eyebrows at him expectantly.

“What? Oh right, thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

The three of them sat around the bench, enjoying their drinks and the cool shade protection offered by the house.

“I think this might be one of the hottest days we’ve had this summer,” Matt broke the companionable silence.

“It’s certainly up there, for sure,” Anna agreed.

“And you picked today to paint your fence. Now who’s the clever one.”

“Excuse me, but if you hadn’t come along when you did and interrupted me I’d have been finished hours ago.”

“You can never admit when you’re wrong can you?”

Oscar sensed his father and Anna were gearing up for another disagreement. For two people who barely knew each other they sure argued a lot. Most of it went over his head, and he wasn’t entirely convinced they were really upset with each other, but it brought back echoes of the final years of his parents’ marriage. They’d done their best not to let it affect him but he wasn’t stupid. He heard them once they thought he was asleep in bed, the raised voices reverberating through the thin walls. He’d hated it, which is why he was relieved when they called it a day. This way, he got to enjoy both of them and they got to enjoy him and no one had to listen to his dad tell his mother to stop buying so many unnecessary tea towels and cushions just because ‘they’re on sale,” or his mother growl his father daily for leaving his underwear on the bathroom floor.

This was different arguing though, between his father and Anna. For one, his father still had a smile on his face, which was reassuring. But still, he worried that his father might annoy Anna so much that she’d ban him from coming to see the ducks. He needed a distraction and looking out the window at the heat haze that hovered above the ground he thought of just the thing. He tugged at his father’s sleeve to get his attention. “Can we go for a swim at the pools dad?”

Matt checked his watch. “It’s a nice idea but the pools close in about an hour. It’d be a waste of money. By the time we got there we’d only get five or ten minutes to swim.”

“Oh,” Oscars face fell.

Seeing the sad expression on his face made something shuffle inside Anna’s chest.

She surprised herself by saying, “I know a place we can go.”

“Yeah? Where? Is it nearby?” Matt got up and took his glass to the sink, turning on the tap to rinse it. He was still shirtless and Anna took the opportunity to examine him while his back was turned. She’d seen bodies like his of course, although not in person. Not on anyone she knew, anyway. Obviously at beaches and other places where a lack of attire was more acceptable she’d seen other muscular men, but always from afar and never so close she could reach out and poke one.

Tim had been more of an ‘indoors’ specimen. His general genetic make-up and desk job accounted for that, although he did like to ride his mountain bike on weekends and once a year at Christmas played a game of rugby with extended family and friends. His skin also never tanned, merely turned pink with the first summers sun then peeled to reveal an even whiter shade than he’d started with.

Matt’s upper body was as brown as her wooden floors, although without the scratches and scuff marks. He had a small smattering of freckles on his upper shoulders, but for the most part his skin was blemish free.

Anna didn’t realise she had forgotten that he’d asked her a question until he finished rinsing his glass and turned, catching her studious look upon his body. He smiled knowingly which made her cross because she knew he was making the wrong assumptions. Just because she found herself slightly intrigued by his physical presence
did not
mean she found the man himself intriguing.

“So where is this place?” Matt prodded her.

She was glad he hadn’t made any snide comments about her staring because if he had she might just have ordered him to leave, and that wouldn’t have been very fair on Oscar.

She got up and rinsed her own glass. “It’s not far. Let me just change into my swimsuit and grab some towels. You’ll have to swim in your shorts I’m afraid,” Anna told Oscar, “I don’t have anything here that would fit you.”

Oscar shrugged. “My shorts are fine.”

“Don’t worry about us,” Matt told her, “we can swim in our underwear if need be.” He was wearing a pair of knee length denim shorts that were entirely unsuitable for swimming.

The thought of Matt in his underwear made Anna drop the glass she’d been drying with a clatter. Luckily it was made of sturdy stuff and bounced rather than shattered, rolling and coming to a stop against the bench cupboards.

“Whoops,” she said.

“You ok?”

“Perfectly fine. I’ll be back in a moment.”

Upstairs Anna fetched a one piece swimsuit from the back of a drawer – navy blue with white spots, very flattering – and grabbed three towels from the linen cupboard. On her way out the bedroom door she stopped, and without giving the action too much thought she opened Tim’s drawers and pulled out a pair of faded baby blue swimming shorts, a modest knee length. She knew if she stopped to think about it too hard she might change her mind.

Making her way downstairs again she felt odd. Like a sore tooth, she isolated the feeling and prodded it. It
was
a nice feeling, she decided, an air of an excited expectation, an anticipatory buzz like when you wake up on Christmas morning and remember what day it is. It felt pleasant to be doing something spontaneous.

For some time now she had operated on a basis of routine, each day mapped out and thoroughly planned in advance. Occasionally things had tried to throw her days off course, like tiny fissures working their way in silently. Impromptu drinks after work, BBQ invitations; all politely but emphatically declined. There was comfort in familiarity, solace in solitude. Today she would make an exception.

Downstairs the guys were waiting for her outside the back door.

“Here,” she threw the shorts to Matt. “You can borrow these.”

He caught them and she saw his curious expression. She tensed herself for the inevitable question.

“Are you afraid I’ll scare people away in my underwear?” he joked instead, and she relaxed.

“I’m afraid you’ll get arrested for public indecency.”

“You think I’m indecent? I rather like the sound of that, like I’m some wicked, dastardly pirate.” He pretended to stab at Oscar with an imaginary sword.  “Argh me matey!”