Page 27 of The Side Road (Love Chronicles #3)

A PICNIC

Overnight, the surrounding vineyards, olive groves, and pastures turned gold, amber, and rust. A tapestry of colours under the bright morning sky; autumn had arrived.

They would take the BMW. There was space in the boot for their picnic items. Oliver ordered food from the local delicatessen: sandwiches and mini pies. Fruit and a cheese platter. He added slices of citrus and olive oil cake to his order.

Before he left the house, he collected his motorbike gear from the garage, taking a spare helmet for Mia.

At the homeware store on the main street, he bought a picnic basket, which included cutlery, crockery, and a rug.

He thought this was an excellent investment, as more picnics would surely be on their Monday agenda.

He packed the items into the boot of the Citroen and drove across the river.

Mia was ready, waiting with Snood on the front step.

She beamed when she saw him. Snood, sporting a red bandana, did a full-body wiggle.

Mia wore a denim skirt and a loose chocolate-coloured jumper with a delicate flower pattern around the band and cuffs.

In her arms, she hugged a leather jacket.

Seeing them stirred his heart, but it felt like he had a secret family.

Inside the front gate, he kissed her. She buzzed excitedly, like a power source.

‘You smell nice,’ she said.

‘I’ve been thinking about you constantly. You are turning me on like you wouldn’t believe.’

‘We should go straight inside?’ she said.

Inside the front door, he picked her up. She hitched her skirt and wrapped her legs around his waist. For several minutes, they kissed. Then he carried her into the bedroom and set her down.

She pulled off her jumper. Her skirt and underwear quickly followed. In a hurry, she rushed to the bed. He wouldn’t keep her waiting. Clothes off, condom on, he met her naked body. Already aroused, she wanted him immediately.

Hands by the side of her face, his naked body hovered over hers and he entered her slowly.

She clenched her thighs. Slow, grinding movements at first. When she moaned his name, he kissed her.

As her back arched, she pushed into him.

Missionary was his favourite position. It was the intimacy that turned him on.

Their bodies moving together. Her lips within reach.

Clear blue eyes smiling into his. To make her come, he squeezed her nipple. He followed her orgasm with his own.

Later, recovering, he thought they might forgo the outing and bring their picnic inside. Spend a lazy few hours in bed. More sex would follow, and she would sleep in his arms.

She rose on one elbow and looked down at him. ‘I’m excited for our picnic and I can’t wait for you to ride the BMW.’ Quickly, she kissed him. Climbing out of bed, she started to dress. ‘Come on, we need to get moving.’

He laughed and collected his clothes.

Outside, she helped him move the picnic items from the Citroen to the sidecar. He passed her the spare helmet. ‘This is for you – I don’t love your helmet.’

‘What’s wrong with my helmet?’

‘It doesn’t fit. Totally up to you, but if we’re doing a few rides, I’m offering this.’ He handed her the spare helmet. ‘It’s a small size. It should fit.’

Unsure, she stared at him.

‘I’ve seen a few accidents. A lot of tissue damage, and structural?—’

‘Okay.’ She nodded.

He looked down. ‘We also need to talk about your shoes.’

She followed his gaze, glancing at the sandals on her feet.

‘You need covered footwear. Today, you’re in the sidecar, so it’s not an issue, but I’ve seen some messed-up feet.’

‘I understand. No more sandals or thongs.’

‘You ride in thongs?’

‘Of course not.’ She cleared her throat. ‘What about a dress, on a warm day? Around town?’

He hesitated. ‘They’re your legs.’

‘I’ll take that as a yes.’ From the pocket of her jacket, she took out a scarf and wrapped it several times around her neck. Then she pulled on the helmet. ‘It’s too tight,’ she said.

‘It’s safe.’ He checked the helmet for size, wiggling it from side to side. Satisfied, he tapped her on the top of the head.

They travelled north on The Tourist Drive. The BMW wound its way through the countryside. In the sidecar with Snood at her feet, the guard protected Mia from the wind. The bike rumbled softly, the only sound breaking the rural silence, as if they were a part of the scenic panorama.

Forty minutes out of town, Oliver took a left turn for Windemere Lake. Travelling down the hill toward the river, the bike slowed. It spluttered, and the engine stopped. He checked the petrol gauge. The needle was at half-full. The bike rolled down the hill, and they turned into the picnic area.

Oliver dismounted. He opened the petrol tank, peered inside, and swayed the bike from side to side. ‘The petrol gauge?’

Mia climbed out of the sidecar. ‘Shit. The gauge must have broken. I swear something on this bike breaks every week.’

‘Do you carry spare fuel?’ He knew she didn’t.

‘I’ll call Carlos, the taxi driver. He can bring us a spare can.’

‘No rush,’ Oliver said. He turned and looked at the valley. They were close to the grassy bank of a small creek, with an empty picnic area behind them. ‘Why don’t we set up first?’

Oliver placed the rug on the grass. He opened and poured the wine.

Mia dived into the picnic pack. She unwrapped the sandwiches, pies, and cakes, placing the food on the plates.

At Mia’s suggestion, Snood stayed in the sidecar until they finished eating; it was safer for everyone.

She saved her crusts for him. Oliver did the same.

After they finished eating, Snood joined them on the rug.

Wagging his tail, he appreciated their thoughtfulness.

Mia rolled onto her side. ‘What’s it like racing?’ she asked. ‘Don’t you get scared?’

‘I started riding when I was four. Being on a bike is as natural as walking. It’s so fucking comfortable. When I’m riding, it’s like a dance. ’

‘Do you miss competing? Because you could try again. Valentino Rossi was racing in his thirties. I looked up that fact, hoping to impress you.’

He smiled. Secretly, he had watched far too many of her knitting videos on social media.

‘Sometimes, but it’s not part of my life anymore.

I also promised Tash. There was an accident.

She was trackside and she lost it. Understandable.

I couldn’t do it to her, not after her mother.

’ He paused and rubbed the back of his neck.

‘I don’t miss the media circus. That was relentless. ’

‘In case no one has told you this before, you’re a good parent.’

‘Thank you. I try. For a while, I put my career before my family. I had a bit to make up for. Before Tash was born, I used to lie awake at night, scared shitless. I wanted so badly to be a good dad. Spending so many hours on a bike gives you time to think. I made a decision not to be like my father.’

‘I heard he died.’

‘Henry, no. He’s still alive. Lives north of Townsville on a block covered in cars and machine parts. I’m talking dozens of cars and rusted-out Bedford trucks. You know those houses?’

Mia nodded.

‘These days we don’t have a lot to say, but I call him on his birthday, Christmas, that sort of thing.

He wasn’t the worst father in the world.

He taught me how to drive and ride a bike.

My first car was a second-hand Holden Ute.

Dad bought it from a friend of a friend.

We picked it up on Saturday morning and he let me drive it home.

I’ll never forget it. The way it made me feel. I smiled for a week.’

‘Did you wash it every Sunday?’

‘I did. I’ve spent years trying to escape my dad, but I now know that’s impossible.

Part of him is in here.’ Oliver pointed to his chest. ‘A small part. I like to think he was a good man going through a tough time, but childhood reflections have a way of eliciting euphoric responses in me, which may not be true – it’s a type of self-preservation. Henry drank. He drank a lot.’

They sat in silence for a moment, then he said, ‘You can ask me about my mum?’

‘I heard she died when you were young.’ She looked at him. ‘That must have been awful.’

‘I was ten – she had breast cancer. She opted for alternative treatments, but nothing she tried worked.’

‘That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.’ She bit her bottom lip.

‘It was terrible. But it was a long time ago.’ He hesitated. They were getting into deep history. He didn’t mind. It had to be aired, and it was best that it came from him.

‘My ex-wife, Lizzy, hit a tree on the Mitchell Highway.’

Mia hesitated. ‘Oliver, that’s a very straight road with hardly any trees.’

‘One thousand kilometres.’

‘What are you saying?’

‘Her blood alcohol level was three times the legal limit. She had a restraining order issued against the guy she was dating, but she was on her way to see him. There were text messages between them.’

‘I see.’ She paused. ‘That must have been rough. How did you cope with all of that?’

‘I got on my bike and went for a long ride. A very long ride. Clears my head. Five years in the Kimberleys also helped.’

Sitting up, she stared at the creek and studied the water rippling gently over the rocks and sunlight scattering across the dark surface .

‘I once ran away from boarding school,’ she confessed. ‘As you know, it wasn’t far. I was thirteen. I ran all the way home.’

‘Is that how you deal with stuff?’

‘No,’ she scoffed. ‘I’ve matured. Now I hide under a blanket and cry.’

‘That’s very adult. Now, I have a question for you.’

‘Out with it?’

‘Why did you escape to Eagle Nest?’

Guilt covered her face like a rash. What did she have to feel guilty about? She lay down and looked up at the sky. It was midday; the sun was high, and she squinted.

‘About three years ago, my boyfriend, Alfie, asked me to marry him. I said yes.’

‘You were engaged?’

‘I was. The thing is, when I told my friends about the engagement, they weren’t happy for me. They didn’t even pretend to be happy. They looked at me like I had a terminal illness. It turned into an intervention.’

‘They didn’t like him?’

‘They said he was controlling. I didn’t see any of the signs, but in hindsight, it’s now obvious.

Alfie was charming and handsome. Sometimes, he was attentive.

At other times, the opposite. He dished out love like a reward, which he took away just as quickly.

I was always on the back foot, looking for his approval. ’

Taking her mug, Oliver poured her another splash of wine, which she accepted.

‘He was also hyper-critical. He said I was too honest. I had a Pollyanna view of the world, which wasn’t meant as a compliment.

He called me a serial monogamist…like that was a bad thing.

For a long time after we broke up, I wasn’t happy.

I had nothing to look forward to. My counsellor sa id I wasn’t depressed, I was languishing.

I had to find a goal because having a purpose was protective. It keeps you sane.’

When he reached for her hand, she tucked it under her thigh.

‘Did you still see your counsellor?’

‘No. But she was brilliant, and I have her on speed dial. When it comes to relationships, I’m not always sure of myself.’ She rolled onto her side and looked at him. ‘Is that going to be a problem?’

‘Mia, I’ve seen sports psychologists, cognitive behavioural experts, pressure management specialists, and motivation gurus. For a long time, I worked with a therapist to address my inner child. And that only covers my head.’

‘What else is there?’

‘My heart.’

‘How is your heart?’

‘Come over here and I’ll show you.’

‘You go all in, don’t you?’

‘Always. Is Alfie the reason you think you’re a bad chooser?’

She nodded. ‘Not just him, there were others.’

‘The world is full of fuckwits. You’re not responsible for someone else’s behaviour.’

‘Thank you.’

‘And Alfie is a dog’s name.’

Mia smiled. Her hand found its way across the rug and into Oliver’s. They met in the middle, and he wrapped his arms around her. She looked into his eyes and said, ‘You’re very good at picnicking.’

‘I’m also a serial monogamist.’

The sound of motorbike engines, a deep, thunderous roar, drew their attention to the road. A group of riders came into view. Half a dozen Harley-Davidsons pulled into the picnic area and cut their engines.

A mountainous-looking man, half Viking and half bear, climbed off his bike. After pulling off his helmet and gloves, he took giant steps in their direction.

Oliver got to his feet. Offering a hand, he helped Mia up.

‘Good afternoon,’ the Viking said. ‘I hope I’m not interrupting; this is a beautiful bike. It looks original. 1970s?’ He stared at the BMW.

Mia stepped behind Oliver, but he wasn’t going to answer for her. She poked her head around his shoulder. ‘Yes, 1978. It’s an R18 classic. The sidecar’s a Watsonian. You probably know that already.’

The rider’s eyes twinkled. A smile creased the corners of his mouth. ‘Ben,’ he said, holding out a hand.

Mia stepped out from behind Oliver and took Ben’s hand. ‘I’m Mia,’ she said. ‘And this is my friend, Oliver.’

As the men shook hands, Ben hesitated. He looked Oliver in the eye. ‘Ah, I thought it was you,’ he said. ‘It’s a pleasure.’

Snood wiggled over to Ben, hoping for some attention. Ben crouched on the ground and rubbed the dog’s ears. ‘I have a toy poodle myself.’

‘Really?’ Mia baulked.

‘I know,’ Ben agreed. ‘Ten years ago, if you’d asked me what sort of dog I wanted, it would not have been a toy poodle. Honestly, he’s the best dog I’ve ever had. I used to tell people he was a poodle and not a toy, but I was lying to both of us.’

‘We’re out of petrol,’ Oliver announced. ‘Do you have a spare tank?’

‘No,’ Ben said. ‘But I’ve just filled up.’

Ben rolled his bike forward and parked it beside the BMW. From his toolkit, he took out a piece of hosepipe. He placed one end into his petrol tank. The other end he put into his mouth.

‘For god’s sake, let me,’ Oliver said.

Ben held up a hand. ‘Anything I can do, it’s a privilege.’ He sucked hard on the hose, coughing and spluttering as petrol spilled onto the ground. With a finger over the end of the hose, he slipped it into the tank of the BMW.