‘She thinks you’ve got a pr—’
He cut her off. ‘Daisy, if Kirsty wants to tell me something, she can tell me herself, okay?’
‘But Joey. Some dickhead’s been spreading gossip that—’
‘I still don’t care,’ he said. Either Kirsty wanted to know him or she didn’t. She’d spent enough time with him to work out the sort of guy he was. ‘Weren’t you leaving?’
Daisy gave a dramatic huff. ‘Okay, fine, whatever; don’t blame us when you’re old and bitter and living with six cats. I’m leaving this bag at the door for Amy—it’s lunch and medicine so don’t let that idiot dog eat it. She’s had a dose of paracetamol half an hour ago, so she can have another dose at noon if she’s still off colour.’
‘One teaspoon, I know the drill.’
‘All those years looking after us little ones finally paid off.’ She blew him a kiss and left.
He watched her drive off in her rattle-trap car, but her words lingered. He had been a dickhead himself, and pretty recently. He fired a text off to Kim before his guilty conscience faded.Kim, you are right … I’ve been a total pillock about the Bondi flat. If you and Markstill want to buy it, I will instruct the real estate agent to stop tearing up your contracts and stuffing them into the shredder.
There. Offer made. He’d hoped to tell Kirsty about it first, ten thousand feet above Clarence, so she’d know there was no longer any worry about the bank interfering with her claim on her great-grandfather’s plane, but yeah. That idea had crashed and burned.
His phone rang less than thirty seconds later with Kim all breathy and girlish. ‘Oh, Joey, do you mean it? You’ll sell us the flat?’
That was quick. ‘Yeah, I mean it. I need it sold, and I was being churlish not selling it to you. I’ve had my head in a bad space for a while—’
‘Your margin loan tanking. I know, it was awful. Mark feels just terrible that we added even more stress. You know. With him and me falling in love.’
Falling into his bed more like, but whatever. ‘I’ll call the agent.’
‘We are soooo excited, Joey.’
Yeah, expecting him to congratulate them was a step too far. He cut to the chase. ‘What about Gus? Is he staying with me from now on?’
She made a huffing noise. ‘Yes. Gus is yours. So long as we get the apartment.’
A ransom. Typical, but whatever. Gus meant more to him than an apartment in a city he had no interest in visiting ever again.
‘But,’ she said, just as he was hoping he could wind the call up and get on with his moping, ‘in the spirit of apology … I may have one to make to you.’
He ran his hand over his jaw. ‘What about?’ If this was going to be some long and involved story about how her eyes had met Mark’s across a crowded room, and doves had started circling above their heads, he wasn’t interested.
‘I, er, may have been a little, um, overly frank when I met that backpacker of yours.’
He frowned. ‘I don’t have “a backpacker”.’
‘Long legs. Brown eyes and a lot of dark hair. Looked like she should give up picking avocadoes or whatever it is she does and model face cream or red race cars.’
He frowned. ‘What overly frank thing did you say, exactly?’
‘Just … that you’d blown all your dough on a bad bet. She looked a little green when I said it, which made me think I’d touched a nerve.’
Well, ka-ching. There it was: the ‘bet’ word Kirsty was so reactive to. This had to be the reason why Kirsty had moved out of the farm, just when he had thought they were forming a connection: her mother’s pokie addiction had cast a long shadow.
‘I’ve got to go,’ he said.
‘But our deal’s still on, right?’ Kim said.
He barely heard her. All he knew was that the—thing—in his chest had just done a somersault and sprouted wings. ‘Gus!’ he shouted, as he hurtled back into the house. ‘What did I do with myIdeal Wifespreadsheet? Be a good dog and find it.’
His future might not have to be bitter and cat-ridden after all.