Page 2

Chapter Two

Bottlebrush

( callistemon )

Bottlebrushes dislike being overwatered – water only when the soil is dry at fingertip depth. A fertiliser designed for Australian natives should be applied in spring. Bottle brush tree care tends to be minimal. These plants are generally hardy and resistant to most diseases.

T he mud cake was a supermarket special but Kahlia still cried as if it was a three-tiered farewell bonanza. I rubbed her arm.

“No need for tears. You’ll be back here before you know it. And with a baby attached!” I grinned. Kahlia wiped her cheeks and laughed.

“True. I’m a huge ball of excitement, anxiety, sadness, trepidation, and rampaging hormones. It’s a lot.” She gave an enormous sigh. “Derek is all the anxiety-laden words as well, but he’s been so amazing. He’s starting his twelve weeks paternity leave two weeks before little one here is due.” Kahlia patted her very round stomach.

Lucas shoved a large slice of cake into his mouth. His very valued presence at the tiny good luck party was due to his decision to skip the last lesson of the school day.

“I have science last lesson on Fridays,” he’d explained when he’d turned up earlier. “We’re doing plant cells at the moment, and I figure that by working here I’ve absorbed enough chlorophyl to pass the end of term test.”

His excuse was laughable. There was cake for a valued colleague and friend, and he was a teenaged bottomless pit when it came to food. A match made in heaven. Tough trundled over, his legs almost too small for his round body, and was startled when confronted with a surreptitious piece of cake which Lucas waved in front of his nose. My dog was another bottomless pit, and while his teenage years were long gone as he was now ten years old, he could still put away a decent slice of caramel mud cake

Derek arrived to pick up Kahlia and received hugs all round. Then, after scoffing down his own slice, he gave in after we insisted that he and Kahlia take the remainder home. Lucas announced that he should be going as well, and so after I received another hug from Kahlia and Derek, and a fist bump from Lucas, I leant back against the front counter and sighed happily. I had a good team, but I really hoped I’d find another member of that good team soon.

“Excuse me?”

I lifted my head to find a rather attractive possibly-thirty-something woman standing in front of me, her blonde hair caught up in a low ponytail, wearing what had to be one-hundred dollar jeans. And heels. With a beautiful leather portfolio satchel. I blinked at the entire package. Well, hello .

Assuming the woman was a customer, I pushed off the counter and took a step forward to see if I could assist.

“Hi! How can I help?”

“Oh! I saw your ad in the window looking for another staff member and I’d like to apply if the position hasn’t been filled?” The woman lifted the end of her sentence and her eyebrows at the same time, and the effect was rather lovely. “My name’s Stephanie—Steph Wa—Thatcher. Sorry. I should have led with that piece of information.” She gave an apologetic-sounding, kind of nervous quick laugh and stuck out her hand. I held her beautifully-manicured hand briefly in my own. A very classy person inquiring about a not so classy job, which was interesting. I was more curious about why she’d stuttered over her own name. Maybe recent name change due to divorce? I pushed my curiosity away. It really didn’t matter.

I sized her up. Slim, my height but maybe a touch taller.

“Hi, Steph. I’m glad I chose to go with the local ad-in-the-window yesterday because it has certainly brought quick results. I’m Angel Whitlock and the owner of this place, Dig It .” I swept my arm about. “So you’ve come to the source.” I grinned. “Let’s do a doorstop interview. Key points of the job and all that.” I pushed one of my wooden pallet creations towards her. “Here. Grab a stool.” We ended up like two chess players without a table, our knees nearly touching.

I held out three fingers. “Point one is that you dislike killing plants.”

Steph smiled, then smothered the smile with a soft bite on her bottom lip. She nodded seriously. “Got it.”

“Point two is that you have a sense of humour. Essential because plants aren’t funny and it’s boring using up your best lines on a eucalypt. People are much more responsive.”

Stephanie allowed her smile to bloom. It was friendly, rather genuine—I had a good radar for genuine smiles equalling genuine people. It boded well for the humour content in point number two.

“What’s point three?” she asked.

“I need someone who knows what they’re doing with native plants besides not killing them.”

Stephanie laughed softly, then pulled an A4 paper from her satchel. “Here’s my resume.”

I took it and scanned over the relevant details. Steph Thatcher. Thirty-two. Degree in Business. I raised an eyebrow at that. A degree in business was not plant-related unless Steph had worked on ensuring that kentia palms were installed in every office on her floor of the skyscraper she’d interned at. Then I noticed it: a reference from Kirk Monash.

“Kirk Monash,” I said nodding slowly. “Impressive. I know him just in passing, because he buys his natives at the same wholesaler as I do. His company is always featured in the top landscaping magazine.”

Steph beamed. “He’s a really nice guy. He helped me understand a lot when it comes to plants like these.” She tipped up her chin to encompass the entire space.

“All right, well, if Kirk says you’re all good when I chat to him later, then I reckon you’ve got the job.”

I studied her. “Point four, though. I’m a bit worried about…” I circled a finger at Steph’s heels and designer clothing. “Working in a nursery means dirt in odd places.”

Steph stared down at her feet. “I truly debated about the heels.” She grimaced at me.

I chuckled. “And not the squizzillion-dollar jeans and shirt?” Then I gestured at her clothes again. “I’m serious, though. People won’t trust you if you look like you’re pretending to be here for an ethnographic study.”

A look that resembled anxiety crossed Steph’s face, and I figured she was either concerned about presenting an ethnography report or finding a new wardrobe.

“Don’t worry too much. We wear aprons to ward off all nature attacks, but plain old jeans and a T-shirt or something is fine.” I pulled my phone out of the apron top pocket. “I’m going to give Kirk a ring if you don’t mind me doing the reference check now.” I raised my eyebrows in question, and Steph beamed.

“That’s absolutely fine. I’ll hang out with the plants and reassure them that if I get the job, I’m contractually obliged not to let them die.”

We grinned at each other, which was rather nice in a weirdly flirty manner. I blinked then whirled around and hurried to my office, shut the door, sank heavily onto the chair, and dialled Kirk’s number.

“Kirk Monash speaking.”

“Hi, Kirk. This is Angel Whitlock from Dig It.”

“Hi there! What can I do for you, Angel?”

“I have Steph Thatcher here applying for a job.”

“Steph Thatch—oh! Steph Thatcher. Right.”

I frowned. “Kirk, she’s written you down as her referee.”

“Yeah, yeah, all good. Yeah, Steph’s worked at quite a few of our jobs. Usually the high-end, crisp-and-clean landscaping, but she’s really shown her love for natives. Steph’s all about planting for sustainability to match the ecosystem that’s present in the area.”

“Excellent. What else can you tell me?”

“She’s a good worker, Angel. Really meticulous and loves to learn. I reckon you’re on a winner there. I’d hire her in a flash.”

“Well, that’s good enough for me. Thanks, Kirk.”

“No worries. Cheers, Angel.”

I rang off and tapped the top of my phone to my lips. Kirk was a very good reference to have, yet initially he’d been confused as to who Steph was. I shrugged. Probably because he employed a dozen or more people and an intern or whatever helper Steph had been wasn’t high on his radar.

I shrugged again. Stephanie Thatcher checked out, and as far as I was concerned, despite the holes in her resume, she had the job. After exiting my office and locking the door, I looked for Steph, and found her communing with the callistemon , accompanied by Tough, who looked like he’d fallen in love with Steph from the way he was closing his eyes with bliss at the head rubs he was receiving.

“I see you’ve met Tough.”

“Is he? Tough, that is?

“Absolutely not, but we foster potential here at Dig It.”

She laughed.

I nodded. “Anyway, your reference checks out, so you’re hired. When can you start?”

Steph’s grin bloomed. “Oh, wow! Thank you so much. I can start as soon as you need me.”

“Goodo. It’s a casual position so if tomorrow works, then eight o’clock?”

“I can definitely do that.”

“You might want to keep wearing your hair up. Plants have a way of transferring accommodation. Not that your hair wouldn’t look nice when it’s down. I mean, it’s—” I cut myself off. What the ever-loving hell? I was flirting. I think.

“Uh. We’ll get the paperwork underway tomorrow then. Tax declaration and all that. Meanwhile.” I pointed towards my right. “Jules stays open on Friday afternoons for all the caffeine tragics like me, so how about a coffee?”

I was on the receiving end of another grin. In the small space of time I’d known Steph, I was already the president of the Steph Thatcher’s Grin Appreciation Society.

We stopped at the floor-to-way-above-head-height cyclone-fenced gate so I could lock it, then I attached a lead to Tough’s collar and walked the few metres to Jules’ cafe.

I wondered at myself. I had met Steph all of two seconds ago and here I was asking her to join me in a cup of coffee. Quickest date invitation in history, which it wasn’t. A date that is. Good grief.

After Jules had called out our ‘fun’ Starbucks-experience names—me: Starfish, Steph: New Girl—we sat at a two-seater table close to the very blurry line that was the cave of mystical wonders and the cafe’s white linoleum. Tough flopped at my feet which made me look like I was wearing white coarse-hair sneakers.

“Starfish?” Steph asked, blowing on her coffee.

I laughed. “Yep. Sand angels at the beach kind of look like starfish, therefore I’m now a sea creature.”

Steph laughed in return, and I pointed a finger. “Don’t laugh too hard. You’re going to be New Girl for the entire year.” Then I smirked as her face dropped.

“So, I don’t get a cool name?”

“That is a cool name. Shiny, sparkly, new.”

I hadn’t meant it to sound so intimate or make my voice so husky. I obviously had the beginnings of laryngitis because again what the hell? I hunted about my brain for something bland to chat about. We’d already covered the essentials.

“Can I ask about your address? It’s in a pretty swanky suburb.” There. Bland. But truthfully, I was intrigued.

Steph put her cup onto her saucer. “It’s my parents place. Well, was. They died six years ago, and I inherited it.”

I automatically reached across the table to touch her hand. “I’m so sorry. That…I didn’t mean to dredge up the past.”

“You didn’t know, and it’s fine. I know the apartment has a street number and postcode that raises a few eyebrows.” Steph moved her hand from under mine to pick up her cup, cradling it near her mouth. “But I live where I live.” She took a sip.

“I live in my parents place, too,” I said. Then I rushed to explain that I wasn’t a forty-year-old woman who hadn’t left home. “Four years ago, they decided that they’d travel the world and last year ended up in France and never left. They gave me the deeds to the flat not long after they settled in Normandy.” I warmed at the memory. Mum and Dad had beamed in via the wonder of the internet, the screen nearly bursting with their happiness, as they led me on a shaky laptop tour of their little cottage in Honfleur and I suddenly became the owner of a lovely little flat in Melbourne.

“Where’s your flat?”

I pointed back at the nursery. “Go past the nursery then after three steps.” I raised my finger to aim it at the second floor of the 1970s two-storey block of flats. “Up there on the second storey.”

Steph laughed. “Handy.”

“Very handy. In case of?—”

“Plant emergencies?” That grin made itself welcome again.

I released my own grin, adding an eyebrow lift. “You never know when a wisteria is having a moment.” We held eye contact and the smile that the joke produced.

Then I panicked. Was I flirting? Was Steph flirting? Why was there flirting? Was I now a clueless lesbian who thought mutual grinning constituted a flirt of some sort and not synchronised satisfaction at a situation?

I dropped my gaze and glared at my coffee.

“So what will I be doing tomorrow?”

I looked up. “Well, probably dealing with a few customers, actually. It’s Saturday so we get quite a bit of foot traffic. Expect random drop-ins.”

“I can do that. Quite prepared for people-ing.”

“People-ing. Good word, that.” Then it occurred to me. “Your resume was a bit light on as far as job experience goes. I know you worked with Kirk but what else have you done?”

It was Steph’s turn to stare into her coffee. “So, you know that my parents died when I was twenty-six. I didn’t do much after that. Just travelled a lot. Did some overseas work in bars. That sort of thing. Poked my toe into the family business.” She met my eyes. “I have a brother who is eight years older than I am.”

I smiled. “Same age as me.”

“It’s a good age. The tree of common sense has mostly established itself by the time you’re forty. Not quite in my brother. His common sense tree is working hard not to pop its clogs.”

I stared, then fell about laughing.

“Pop its clogs?”

That grin. “Uh huh. I’ll make sure the Dig It ’ s plants and any wooden footwear are kept separated.”

* * *

Later, after we’d confirmed an eight o’clock start, said goodbye, and I’d settled into my comfy couch with its flowery 1980s fabric with Tough curled up in the corner, it occurred to me that Steph hadn’t answered my question about where and what she’d been doing since graduating university. I did quick calculations. Twenty-six when her parents died. Twenty-one or twenty-two when she finished uni. So what was she really doing for four years? Curious. I told myself it didn’t matter. I was simply being nosy. As far as I was concerned, Steph Thatcher was good people and I had a highly tuned antenna for good people. It hadn’t steered me wrong in my entire adult life.