Love or Money by Peter McAra

or twice, Erin had wondered where he lived. A respectable house with the lawns mowed, most likely. There’d be a load of washing on the rotary clothesline, a row of petunias bursting into bloom in the front garden. One day she’d drive by, just for the fun of checking out her guesses.

Chapter 5
    The Saturday scheduled for Landcare to work on Lovers’ Lookout ticked around too fast. Over the last few days, Grandma Spenser’s ghost seemed to hover over Erin, urging her to finish the chores that must be done to make the day a success. She could almost hear the old woman tutt-tutting over her plans.
    â€˜I’m sad you have to sell up, dear,’ she heard that imaginary voice say. The voice, with its twang from old Australia, would probably haunt Erin for the rest of her life. ‘I understand about your mother. But…isn’t there some other way?’ Erin tried to switch off the persistent whisper. She’d slave to make the Landcare day a success. Ten years of tradition was at stake. Before Saturday Erin would have to make a mountain of coffee-break munchies, ranging from fruit cake to Anzac biscuits, then make lunch for a dozen hungry people. On Friday evening she put every available cup, saucer, mug and plate on the table in the little bougainvillea-covered summerhouse. She bought five varieties of tea, some respectable coffee, and litres of milk. Later, she raided the freezer for her recent baking efforts and put them out to thaw.
    Around nine on Saturday morning the first car pulled up outside the cottage. A middle-aged woman in muddy overalls walked up to the front door dragging a bundle of tools: spade, garden fork, machete, loppers.
    â€˜Hi Erin, I’m Jenny,’ she smiled. ‘I work in Hamish’s office. Where do I start?’ Erin peered at the woman, then recognised her.
    As Erin puzzled over the question, another vehicle stopped at the gate — the battered truck she’d come to recognise by now. Hamish stepped out. He stood like an explorer setting forth to conquer the unknown; tall in his dusty Akubra, denim shirt and jeans, and high-laced working boots. He carried a shiny red chainsaw in one hand, a plastic petrol can in the other. Then he smiled. His eyes enfolded her, held her. Since the day they’d first met in his office, she’d retrieved and drooled over her mental photograph of his face a hundred times, often in the small hours. Now it was really him. Her sleepless nights had come up with nothing to compare with the man who walked towards her, tools in hand. In the flesh. Again, she felt the rippling iron of his chest as he carried her up the beach in the merciful dark, pressing her shivering body against his. He was real, in a way no other man in her life had ever been real.
    Certainly not Todd Archer. She looked at Hamish again, saw his real body, his real smile. This is him, she heard a small, clear voice saying deep inside her. This is the man you’ve waited for. Mr Right seemed a silly, girlish expression. She pictured the two of them, walking hand in hand through an imaginary forest, walking to the future. But now, this moment, she must do something, anything, to get back to reality. Another car coasted to a stop outside her gate.
    â€˜Hi, Hamish. Your timing’s perfect.’ She glanced at the first arrival, who still stood expectantly with her bundle of tools. ‘Jenny wants to know where to start. Can you take charge?’
    â€˜Sure. We’ll start Jenny on fireweed duty. You have a serious invasion a hundred metres down the slope from here.’ A fortyish couple walked in from the gate carrying another assortment of tools. ‘Great.’ Hamish waved to the new arrivals. ‘The Carters are here. Lantana specialists. Gary and Jean, would you like to attack that big lantana jungle over yonder?’ He pointed.
    â€˜Sure,’ the man smiled. ‘We always work there when we come to Edna’s.’ He