She saw the question in his eyes. He’d seen right through her but was too polite to ask her outright if there actually was a swimwear business. She reached for the door handle. ‘I’d better get to bed. Tell Hannah I’ll drop in and bring Amy’s present with me. I still can’t believe I turned up empty-handed. A big fail on my part tonight.’
Damien opened his door and walked around to meet Nat. ‘I’ll come in and call an Uber. And don’t worry about tonight, you’ve got a lot on your mind, and I get that you’re stressed. The one thing I’d suggest is that you go into the house, get on to the poker site and deactivate your account. It can be addictive, and I’ve read stories about it ruining people.’
Pity you didn’t mention this when you introduced me to the site. The bitterness in Nat’s thought was unfair, she knew that. For a start it had been Matt, not Damien, who’d suggested online poker. Damien played poker for some light entertainment and an escape from everyday life. Neither he nor Matt could have anticipated she’d have a problem with it, but, to be fair, neither had she.
Damien’s words stayed at the front of Nat’s mind for the next few days after admitting her situation to him on Saturday night. Get on to the poker site and deactivate your account. It can be addictive, and I’ve read stories about it ruining people. Yes, but for every story of someone being ruined, there were stories of it being life-changing for others. And she’d done so well at the poker night and initially online. She must have changed something in her game. That was probably the issue, she realised as she drove through the leafy streets near Phyllie’s house on her way back from the supermarket. She needed to go back to basics. Get back on the free tables and check her strategy and stick to it. But even if she refined her game play, she still had the issue of being fifteen thousand dollars in debt and having no money to add to her poker account. She’d thought this through and decided she’d try one last approach before seriously considering looking for a regular job.
Nat climbed out of her car and took the shopping bags from the boot.
‘Need a hand with those?’
She turned to find Leon standing a few metres behind her. She shook her head. ‘No, I’m good, thanks.’ Her heart rate quickened as she took in his lopsided grin. She took a deep breath, doing her best to ignore the attraction she felt towards him. ‘You’re not looking for your escaped goat again are you?’
Leon shook his head. ‘No, just going for a walk. Want to join me?’
‘Yes, I’d love to.’ The words came out of Nat’s mouth before she had a chance to bite them back. Yes, she would love to, but Phyllie’s words came flooding back to her: Imagine if you did what you’ve done to many others – dated him for a few months and then dumped him. That might be the last I’d ever see him.
‘Actually, I can’t, sorry.’
Leon raised his eyebrows in question. ‘It’s just a walk, Nat. No big deal.’
Not for him, perhaps, but Phyllie was right. Her track record was terrible and right now, when she was unemployed and sinking further into debt, it was best to keep to herself. While he might not be offering more than a walk, if it turned into something else, she’d have Phyllie to answer to. It was best to be friendly and keep him at a distance. ‘I forgot that I’ve got a few things to do for Phyllie.’
Leon pushed his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. ‘No worries. Another time, perhaps?’
Nat nodded and watched, disappointment filling the pit of her stomach, as he continued on down the road. She wondered if there would be another time.
She turned with her shopping and made her way towards the house. She planned to talk to Phyllie that night and had decided to make her favourite dinner. Hands full, she stopped at the front door, surprised to find it ajar. She smiled, thinking of Phyllie’s constant reminders to ‘keep the bloody door shut so that blasted goat doesn’t waltz on in’. Still, it saved her having to put her shopping down to unlock it.
She pushed it open with her foot and took the bags through to the kitchen, winding her way around the ironing board and iron that Phyllie had left in the middle of the living room, a skirt hanging over it looking like it had been half ironed.
‘Phyllie, are you here?’ Nat assumed she was probably in the bathroom. She would hardly go out halfway through ironing something and leave the door open.
There was no response.
Nat left the shopping bags on the bench and walked through to Phyllie’s room. She knocked, poking her head around the door when there was no answer. The door to the en suite was open, and Nat could see Phyllie wasn’t in there. She went back to the living area and switched the iron off at the wall. She could imagine the lecture she’d receive from Phyllie if she left the iron on when she went out.
Perhaps the goat was back and Leon hadn’t realised it had escaped. She hurried to the back door and flung it open, half expecting to find Phyllie pinned against the back fence by the goat. But other than a noisy miner splashing in the birdbath by the rose garden, the area was empty.
She went back inside. Perhaps Phyllie had ducked out to see one of the neighbours. Still, to leave the iron on and the door open wasn’t very smart. She unpacked the groceries, putting the perishables in the fridge, and returned to the living area. She switched the iron back on. She would finish ironing Phyllie’s skirt and then she’d start dinner.
She was packing up the iron, having laid the neatly pressed skirt on her grandmother’s bed, when the front door flew open and Phyllie hurried into the house.
‘What’s the rush?’ Nat called.
Phyllie stopped, her eyes wide as she stared at Nat. ‘What are you doing here?’
Nat laughed. ‘What do you mean? I live here, remember?’
Confusion flashed across Phyllie’s face for a split second, then she smiled. ‘I know that, I mean what are you doing down here? I thought you’d be busy working. You’ve hardly left that top floor since you’ve been here.’ Her eyes moved to the ironing board. ‘Although, that’s a good sign if you’re ironing something to go out in.’
‘No, I finished ironing your skirt. I put it on your bed.’
Phyllie laughed. ‘Why are you ironing my clothes? I’m sure I can manage that when I need them. Mind you, I hardly ever get that blasted thing out. I usually cheat and throw my clothes in the dryer for a few minutes. It gets the creases out.’
‘Phyllie, you left the iron on with your skirt half ironed before you went out. I was finishing it for you so I could put the ironing board away.’
Phyllie’s forehead creased as she frowned.
Nat stared at her grandmother. Had she forgotten she’d been ironing? No, she’d probably just been in a hurry to do something. She was still in her gardening trousers so couldn’t have gone far. ‘Where did you go?’
‘What, just now?’
Nat nodded.
‘Down to the charity shop. It’s Joan Margaret’s birthday today, and Bev organised a cake for afternoon tea. I promised I’d go down and join them, but when I got there, the shop was locked up. I’m about to ring Bev to find out what happened. I’m praying that no one has had a fall or anything worse.’
She’d gone for a birthday celebration in mud-covered trousers? That was unheard of for Phyllie.