Lessons From Ducks (9 page)

“Nice colour,” Matt commented as he passed through. “Not very exciting, but nice.”

“Not exciting? You would rather I paint it bright orange or something equally as show stopping?”

“Orange? Hell no, I’m not completely tasteless. But a cheerful turquoise, now
that
would have given your neighbours something to look at.”

“And complain about, probably.”

“It’s that kind of neighbourhood is it? Where everybody knows everyone’s business?”

Anna shrugged. “My neighbours could be considered by some to be nosy, yes. But in my experience, people only discover your secrets if you’re unguarded enough to let them.”

“Is that a warning?”

“Of course not. Merely an observation.”

Bored with the conversation taking place above his head, Oscar piped up. “Can I go see the ducks now? Please?”

“Of course,” Anna said. She hadn’t realised he was still there. “They’re around the back somewhere, sleeping off breakfast in the garden. Feel free to observe the main flock, but please stay away from Mrs Dudley and her eggs. I would prefer she remain undisturbed.”

“Ok.”

“What do you say?” Matt prompted Oscar.

“Thanks,” Oscar said over his shoulder as he was already half way up the garden path.

“You’re welcome,” she called after him.

Chapter twelve

“Aren’t you going to go with him?” Anna asked, when it became clear that Matt intended on hanging around the front with her.

“Nah he’s ok. Ducks aren’t really my thing, to be honest.”

“Oh.” She cursed inwardly. Despite his assurances that they wouldn’t be in the way, she was already annoyed by his presence. “As much as I’d love to stand around and chat,” she lied, “I have things to do.” She picked up her paintbrush and without thinking grabbed at the gate to pull it towards her, forgetting she’d already painted that section.

“Damn,” she cringed when she realised her hand was coated in paint. She hoped he hadn’t noticed but luck wasn’t on her side.

“Nothing a little turpentine won’t get off,” he said, and she heard the teasing in his voice.

Ignoring him, she dunked the brush in the paint, sweeping it against the wood, covering her tidy, neat strokes from earlier with messy, uneven ones. When it had been silent for two minutes she turned her head to one side to check. He was gone. She let her shoulders relax, rolling them backwards a couple of times but the tension refused to be dispelled. She was annoyed. The equilibrium of her day had been destroyed by their visit. Before, she could enjoy the silence and the sun on her skin. She was surrounded by lush nature that had flourished by her doing, and the feeling of peace this brought her was immeasurable. Days like this were for Anna like being plugged into an electrical socket to be recharged. The physical activity eased her body, and the calm of her surroundings soothed her soul.

She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply.

“I will not let it ruin my day,” she whispered to herself softly.

“So, how’s your week been? How about that weather eh? Phew, hot or what.”

Her eyes flew open. He was making himself comfortable on the front porch steps, leaning back, a hand shading his eyes against the sun. He grinned up at her.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

He looked around puzzled, then back at her. “Is that a trick question?”

“Where is Oscar? Why aren’t you with him?”

Matt pointed to the side of the house. “I left him around there, safely camped out in your garden with the ducks.”

He could see by her expression that this answer had failed to appease her.

“Don’t worry, he won’t damage anything. I gave him strict instructions not to touch.”

She shook her head. “I’m not worried about that. What are
you
doing?”

“What do you mean, what am I doing? I’m sitting here making small talk with you.”

“Yes, I can see that, but why?”

He looked genuinely baffled. “Why not?”

She sighed. He was being deliberately dense. She would have to spell it out. “You promised you wouldn’t disturb me.”

“Did I?”

“Yes. You said, and I quote, ‘you won’t even notice we’re here’.”

“Huh. That doesn’t sound like something I’d say.”

But she could tell from his tone and the way his eyes were crinkled around the edges like screwed up paper that he was playing with her again.

“Well you
did
say it. And now you’re just sitting there, right where I can see you. It’s distracting.”

“Sorry,” he said, looking anything but. He made no move to go, if anything he made himself more comfortable on the step. He opened the blue backpack and after rooting around inside pulled out a banana, which he proceeded to peel and take a large bite from. He noticed her still watching him. “Oh I’m sorry,” he said, “would you like one? We brought plenty.”

“No. Thank you. I’ve just eaten lunch.”

“Ok, well let me know if you change your mind. There’s plenty to go around.” He took another bite and looked at the gardens around him. “These really are spectacular gardens,” he said. “Did you plant them all yourself?”

Anna sighed and turned back to her painting. He was not taking the hint. Perhaps if she refused to participate in the conversation more than necessary he might lose interest.

“Yes.”

“No help from a landscaper?”

“No.”

“A gardener?”

“No, just me.”

“Did your husband help?”

She gave him a fed up look. “Which part of ‘just me’ do you not understand?”

“Sorry, just making conversation.”

“I don’t
want
to make conversation. I want to get on with painting my fence.”

“Well don’t let me stop you. Just pretend I’m not here.” He took another large bite to finish off the banana and folded up the peel, looking around for some place to dump it. She watched. He saw her watching and smiled guiltily. “I’ll just take this with me, shall I?” he said and started to put it back into the backpack.

She took a deep breath, counted to five then expelled it. This man required levels of patience she no longer had. “Pass it here.” She held out her hand.

He gave it to her and she pulled it apart, tucking the pieces into the soil underneath a nearby hydrangea.

“Now why didn’t I think of that?” he said.

“I have no idea. We do all have differing levels of intelligence though.”

He had just taken a mouthful of water from a bottle and spluttered at her words, spitting the water out like a fountain. A few droplets landed on her feet and she looked down at them distastefully.

“You’re insulting my intelligence now?” he managed to cough out.

She frowned. “No, you asked a question and I offered an answer.”

“By insulting my intelligence!”

“That wasn’t my intention, but if you choose to take it that way I can’t stop you.”

He put his head to one side and observed her sardonically. “You,” he said, “are what my grandmother would have referred to as ‘an odd duck’.”

“Oh I see. This is payback is it? You believe I insulted you – when I was merely pointing out a fact – and so you resort to childish name calling. Not a very mature response is it, but perhaps I shouldn’t expect any better.”

Her remark made his eyes flare and he got to his feet swiftly, striding up the garden path to stand in front of her. It was the closest anyone had stood to Anna in a very long time, and immediately she felt her body tense and little pinpricks of skin pop up, as if someone had just tickled her with a hundred feathers. She held her breath.

“Now that’s not fair,” he said, quietly but sternly. “You’re judging me based on what? Casual conversation and your mistaken belief that I was stalking you when in fact I was only showing concern?”

Anna’s ears were listening but her eyes, deprived of another person in such close proximity for some time now, had a curious life of their own, and while he talked they were busy examining the colour of his skin up close – rich like polished rimu wood – and the little trees of stubble that were sprouting from his chin – some grey dotted in amongst the black, she was surprised to see. She tried to think of a word to describe the colour of his eyes but the closest she could come up with was a kind of sea green, like the colour of smooth glass washed up on the beach. He had a small scar that extended from the edge of his left eyebrow and ran across his temple before disappearing into his hairline. She wondered briefly at its cause before remembering that actually he was of no interest to her, and took a step backwards. Even so, it was a minute before the scent of him – he smelt of nature and soap, the plain white one you could pick up at any supermarket for fifty cents apiece – left her nostrils.

He was still talking.

“ – and I don’t know why or when exactly you formed this opinion of me, and I have no idea why it bugs me as much as it does - because it
really
does – or why I feel the urge to correct you, but if you could see the way
you
yourself come across to people you’ve just met I’m guessing you wouldn’t be so quick to judge.”

“Really.”

“Yes,
really
.”

“How do I come across?”

“You sure you want to know? I wouldn’t want to offend you.”

“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t.”

“Alright then. Uptight. You come across as a bit uptight.”

She defined the word in her head and concluded that he was probably right. “I can accept that.”

“And rude.”

“Rude? I am not rude.”

“You can be, and I haven’t finished. You also come across as arrogant.”

She opened her mouth to protest. No one had ever accused her of being arrogant before, and she resented the application of the title now. “I am not arrogant.”

“What would you call it then? Correcting someone you’ve just met on their speech when the word they’ve used is actually perfectly acceptable by most people’s standards? See, I checked around and no one else thinks there’s anything wrong with the term, ‘keeping’ ducks.” 

“What would I call it? I’d call it, ‘teaching’. Doing you a favour. And the reason your friends don’t see anything wrong with it is probably because you all speak the same language.”

“Of course we do. And that language is English.”

“You can call it what you like. As I told you then when this conversation originally took place, I meant no offence. I apologise if it came across that way.”

“Apology accepted.”

“Oh how very gracious of you.”

“I’m a gracious kind of guy. It’s one of my many wonderful traits.”

“Really.”

“Yes, really.”

“Anyway what are you, an elephant?”

He was confused by the sudden turn the conversation had taken. “Elephant?”

“Yes, holding a grudge about something so silly. It’s very tiresome.”

He laughed, all traces of his earlier anger gone. He held up his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “No grudge, and I promise that’s the last time I mention it.”

“Good. I hope so.”

He held out his right hand, “Deal?”

She gave the question serious consideration before reaching out her own hand and sliding it inside his. “Deal.”

“As long as you promise you’ll give me another chance to show you what a lovely guy I really am,” he said, not letting go of her hand. He wondered if she were feeling popping tingles up her arm too, like the small ones you get when you place your tongue on the end of a battery to check if it has any life left.

“Says who?”

“Ask anyone around town, they’ll all tell you the same thing. Matt Pritchard is a stand up bloke, honest as the day is long, loyal as a Labrador. The ladies might add that he’s not bad to look at either,” he winked at her.

“And modest, don’t forget modest.”

“Yes he’s very modest.”

Anna enjoyed the way his smile made her feel for a moment, warmed through to the creamy marrow inside her bones. Her body had been subjected to a long and particularly cold and brutal internal winter. It was testament to her very character that she had survived. But now, with his full wattage smile, she felt the first icicles start to melt –
drip, drip –
and the snow begin to thaw and recede, revealing pockets of new green growth. Hopeful and optimistic, blinking under the bright glare of the sun.

Oh no,
she thought.
No this won’t do at all.

“Shouldn’t you check on Oscar?” she asked, but managed to make it sound more of an order than a question. She turned back to the gate, almost kicking the paint tin over in her haste.

Matt watched her shut down from him. He knew it wasn’t because she was suddenly desperate to continue with her painting. He had seen the joy in her eyes, the unreserved moment of pleasure she had allowed herself to feel, even if it
was
only for a moment. Now that he knew he could elicit that kind of response from her, that she wasn’t always gruff and curt and all rough edges, he wanted so badly to do it again.

“I guess, although I did tell him to scream out if he ran into any trouble.” Matt wandered off around the side of the house but came back almost immediately, a wide smile on his face. He indicated with a finger for her to follow him.

“What is it? I’m trying to paint a gate here.”

“That can wait. You have to see this.”

Sighing heavily, she put the brush down with the wet end on the upturned paint lid and followed him.

“Hardly notice we’re here, you said –” she muttered and got a fright when Matt turned suddenly causing her to bump against him. He held a finger up to his lips. “Shut up and look,” he whispered, pointing towards her large back garden, where raspberries grew wild amongst white roses, Daphne bushes, lavender plants and some self seeded cherry tomatoes. She peered in the direction his finger was pointing, at first seeing only the lush green of her garden. Then her eyes adjusted and she saw Oscar, sitting beside a large ornamental rock beneath a climbing rose. He hadn’t notice them approach, and she soon saw why. His attention was utterly focused on the ducks sitting all around him. To her astonishment, she realised one was even in his lap, and she took a step forward because she figured he must have captured the duck against its will. Why else would it be sitting on his lap? Then she saw his hands. One was cupped against the ducks breast gently and the other was making soft gentle strokes down its back. If Ducks could purr she imagined that duck would be doing so.