Love or Money by Peter McAra Page A

grinned at the confused Erin. ‘Oh, sorry. It’s yours now, Erin. Lovely lady, Edna. So much we’d love to tell you about her. Later, over our cuppa.’ The couple headed off, obedient slaves to foreman Hamish.
    â€˜I’ll take on those fallen trees with my chainsaw,’ Hamish said between arrivals, waving an arm in the direction of a small forest. ‘They landed splat on some beautiful regrowth during our last storm. And you’ll be able to use the wood this winter.’ Erin didn’t remind him that she planned to be long gone by winter. ‘There’s nothing like a log fire,’ he said. ‘You can enjoy a warm house all winter and not use a gram of fossil fuel. Log fires are totally Green, believe it or not.’
    As more workers trickled onto the lawn, Hamish sent them off to this or that chore. Erin saw that his team respected him. He was their leader, their friend. He was one of them, but with a passion that set him apart. She remembered snippets of weird conversation from their night at the Golden Dragon. Trees that talked. Forests that felt pain. He was in touch with the space around them, and people knew it and respected it. The frequency of arriving workers slowed. Hamish moved towards Erin.
    â€˜The other night at the beach.’ He kept his voice low. ‘I want to apologise. It wasn’t me. I had no business doing…’ He turned away. ‘I feel bad about it. So — unprofessional.’
    â€˜You lawyers,’ Erin heard herself saying. She forced a giggle. ‘Just forget about it. I was the guilty party. I pushed you into it.’ His face still wore the apologetic smile. ‘We…er…put it all to bed that night.’ she smiled. Why had she made such a dumb choice of words? ‘As far as I’m concerned, it’s all done and —’
    â€˜Daddy!’ The gate opened and Dwayne ran to his father, squealed with happiness as Hamish swung him off the ground, whirled him above his head, and hugged him. A young woman followed — barefoot, carrying a string bag. Draped in tie-dyes, skirt trailing the ground, a mess of dreadlocked hair falling across her face, she followed the little boy towards Hamish. She had to be Hamish’s partner.
    Erin must maintain her cool, welcome the woman, hide any reaction. Then, as she watched Hamish collect a bag of toys from the woman’s car, she saw his face fall, his shoulders hunch. Hamish’s body language shouted defeat, resignation, pain. What lay behind that unlikely pairing? As the couple walked, Dwayne scampered beside them. He was their child and they loved him, she told herself. What else mattered? The little boy grabbed his father’s hand and Hamish swept him into the air again with a laugh.
    â€˜Hey. Don’t chuck him about too much, Hamey,’ the woman said. ‘He just had his brekky.’ Hamish lowered Dwayne to the ground, patted his head as Erin watched from the shade of the cottage veranda. Any moment now, he’d introduce her to his partner. But he didn’t. He dropped the bags in the summerhouse, left the dreadlocked woman, and walked back to Erin.
    â€˜Better get round to the troops and see if they need any help,’ he said. ‘Tools, plants, whatever.’ He followed a bunch of workers into the tangle of scrub behind the house. The woman caught Erin’s eye, then walked over.
    â€˜Dwayne’s always hungry. Got any munchies? A bit of cake?’
    â€˜Of course.’ Erin smiled. ‘On the table in the summerhouse.’ She led the way, flicked a muslin cloth off the food. Seconds later, mother and son attacked a pile of Anzac biscuits, then the Black Forest cake. Erin retreated. The array of yummies she’d carefully arranged for morning tea would be trashed by that pair in no time flat. She disappeared into the kitchen. Everyone except her had settled into the jobs Hamish had given them. It seemed he’d