Page 40 of The Side Road (Love Chronicles #3)

A LONG RIDE

Oliver had promised to read a draft of Tash’s art essay on Howard Arkley.

The Australian artist painted post-war suburban houses in fluorescent colours.

Studying pictures of the artworks online, Oliver said, ‘Mr Arkley liked empty yards and garage doors. Why aren’t there any people in these paintings? ’

‘Because they’re all inside, dying of boredom,’ Tash said.

Oliver smiled. He held out his hand and she passed him her draft.

‘Want to watch Antiques Roadshow with me later? Nan loved Antiques Roadshow .’

‘Sure. Give me half an hour,’ he said, shuffling the papers of her essay.

‘We’re going to need snacks .’

Oliver looked up. ‘Healthy snacks, like carrots.’

‘Ollie, if I eat any more salad, I’m going to turn into a bunny.’

His spirit was the consistency of golden syrup; he was too tired to argue .

A short time later, they were on the sofa watching TV. A middle-aged, grey-haired man wearing a grey suit and tie was interviewing a grey-haired woman wearing a pleated tartan skirt and a beige jacket. Her double chin an odd complement to her coral lipstick.

‘How old is this episode?’ Oliver asked, wolfing a handful of popcorn. ‘It might predate my birth.’

‘We have to guess the prices,’ Tash said.

The first item for appraisal was a pair of chocolate figurines – a nurse and a soldier.

From the 1920s, they lay in boxes filled with straw and the host deemed them inedible.

Neither Tash nor Oliver knew what the one-hundred-year-old treats were worth.

When the host said they might fetch fifty pounds, the owner was overjoyed.

‘Creepy,’ Tash said. ‘Why would anyone want chocolate you can’t eat?’

Oliver picked up Tash’s knitting and completed a row.

As he watched the show, he finished a few more rows, then he passed the work to Tash, who knitted for several minutes, then passed the piece back to her father.

This was the third pair of socks Tash had attempted.

The most challenging, the wool was a finer two-ply yarn.

The next item to be appraised was a beautiful silver necklace, which was owned by an extremely old and frail woman, who looked both delicate and fierce. After a terrible argument, the woman’s husband had given the jewellery to her as a peace offering.

Tash guessed ten thousand pounds. Oliver guessed one thousand. ‘Stuff is never worth as much as you think,’ he said.

The host advised the necklace owner that she might get fifty thousand for the piece. ‘I should never have divorced him,’ she said.

When the sock was finished, Tash cast off the yarn and examined her knitting. ‘Oh no, I have a hole,’ she said. Showing Oliver, she poked her finger through the heel.

‘Probably a missed stitch.’

‘Mia has a video.’ Taking her father’s phone, Tash checked Hook he watched Mia’s post on how to repair a slipped stitch three more times.

Again, he was mesmerised. The video had one hundred thousand views.

The public’s obsession was understandable; it was difficult to look away.

He decided on a walk before nightfall; it was a relief to leave the brightly lit house and enter the dusty twilight.

After crossing the road, he wandered closer to the river, thinking he might glimpse Buttons, because the rabbit would have headed for the water.

The animal had a strong survival instinct.

The sound of the valley in early spring surrounded him – rippling water, shivering willows, an evening bird, cars rumbling over the bridge: comforting, country town noises.

The track along the river was familiar. As a young boy, he had taken it hundreds of times.

He had swum through every twist of the dark river’s current and laid his youthful body on the bank under the warm sun to dry.

The river knew his secrets. Stories of his past and the hidden parts of his childhood.

He felt the connection between the man he was now and his younger self, coupled with a sense of belonging .

His attempts to leave this town had been considerable. But family had always pulled him back. There was no escaping the past. It made you who you were. He didn’t fight the pain in his chest. Instead, he breathed in and out, letting the feelings, the memories, and the hurt settle over him.

When he came to the bridge, he paused, wondering how he was going to fix this mess with Mia.

Some bikes threw a rod mid-ride. Unforeseen and unavoidable, it could happen for no apparent reason.

The only option was to pull over and fix the problem by the side of the road.

Was he supposed to coax Mia back? Was she even the right person to build a life with?

Perhaps she wasn’t ready for commitment. Perhaps she had never wanted it.

A long ride wasn’t a bad idea. He had a lot to think about, and it had never failed him before. Maybe it would fix his insomnia.

As the night descended, he turned away from the dark river and, leaving the nocturnal landscape behind, walked back home to make the arrangements.

One day was all he needed. The Widowmaker was a fast bike.

If he left early and travelled northeast, by late afternoon, he could be on the east coast – maybe he would get to Yamba.

After spending a few hours staring at the ocean, he would get a good night’s sleep.

The following day, he would head back. That was the plan.

On the inside, Mia felt like she was falling apart. At night, she lay awake, regretting her decision to leave Oliver. She bemoaned her inability to call and apologise. Her pride, a powerful and undeniable force, couldn’t be easily suppressed.

At work, she pretended nothing unusual had happened in her life.

Determined to show her pale face to the world, she feigned a version of normalcy.

If anyone saw through her strained expression, her swollen eyes, trembling hands, and stiff composure, she told them she had a cold, but ArmaForce was a staple in her medicine cabinet, so she would be fine in a few days.

There was nothing they should worry about.

At the end of the week, Saige arrived five minutes late for work. She sidled up to Mia and said, ‘I just have to say, those jeans?—’

‘I don’t have any others,’ Mia snapped. ‘What’s wrong with my jeans?’

‘They look good on you.’

Mia smiled. She gave Saige a thumbs-up.

‘You can’t do that.’

Mia put her thumb away. ‘How’s it going with Connor? Did you see him on the weekend?’ she asked.

‘We broke up. He grabbed my boob in public. I felt objectified. Also, he’s not here for me emotionally. I can do better.’ Saige collected a microfiber cloth from behind the counter and started dusting down the display stands. Mia felt a twinge of pride.

Later that day, April, checking the batch numbers of old stock, dropped an armful of wool onto the counter. The gesture was subtle, yet surprisingly forceful.

‘Sorry, I’m in a foul mood!’ April snapped.

‘Are you okay?’

‘I haven’t slept. An animal is scurrying around inside my roof. It might be a possum. Or it could be a rat, but I’m hoping it’s a possum.’ She looked at Mia. ‘I might go off the apps.’

‘Overwhelmed by choice?’ Mia asked.

‘Not likely. There’s a fine line between fishing and staring at your phone like an idiot.’ April plucked her phone out of her pocket. She opened the dating app, handed the device to Mia, and encouraged her to swipe.

Mia swiped several times. After that, there were no more options. ‘Slim pickings.’

April pointed to the woman on the screen wearing a grey scarf. ‘That one talked all night about how busy her life was.’

‘That can be annoying,’ Mia agreed.

‘The apps have changed me. I don’t like the person I’m becoming. Also, someone stole Fiona’s beanie.’

The hand-knitted hat, made by April, was a navy cable design with a luxurious pom-pom.

‘Do you know who it was?’ Mia asked.

April lowered her voice. ‘It might have been Connor – it was his mum’s birthday last week.’

The rest of the day passed slowly. Each tick of the clock felt laboured, and the minutes dragged like Snood, reluctant to leave his evening walk along the river trail. At one point, Mia thought the clock might have stopped.