Californian Poppy

The two trips we made as a family in late '98 and early '99 thankfully lacked the drama and tension of the visit to Ella's.

Both journeys were of equal importance to me. We took the first trip to see Josh in his Victorian country house. The second journey was to visit Coral in Sydney.

We travelled from Albury-Wodonga to Melbourne in November to visit my mum and dad. These were regular trips, as the kids liked their grandparents. The difference on this trip was a stop-over at Josh's. His invitation arrived by mail. We wrote off and on — our method of keeping in contact.

This time, he invited us to see stage one of the remodelling of the historical home he owned. He had completed the entire ground floor. Plus, he added a postscript; he wanted to introduce me to a girl he liked.

The girl part warmed my heart; this was terrific news.

We arrived at Josh's in the afternoon. The Federation-style house, circa 1900, expanded grand as we drove the wide gum-lined driveway. Josh greeted us on his front porch, lifting the girls high. We toured the restored area where my mate let little fingers touch endless polished wood and marvelled and giggled at their warped reflections.

Eventually losing interest and skipping near the staircase, Rhea gathered the girls and occupied them on the rear patio.

Josh and I paused, discussing the finer details of the restoration. The kitchen, dining, and entertaining areas were immaculately refurbished. We spent a stretch in his conservatory, the colours prolific and teeming.

I spied Californian poppies in a cluster.

"Beautiful," I praised, picturing the golden girl.

"Coral," he declared, focusing on the petals.

"Lovely," I quickly replied, trying to keep the conversation to the flowers.

He laughed lightly, "I once picked the petals off one by one; you know, the teenage game? The 'She loves me; she loves me not,' I got the latter."

I suggested viewing his imposing staircase to escape the Coral-centred conversation.

At the foot of the stairs, upstairs beckoned off-limits as my mate's ongoing, colossal work area.

"A creaky, unstable staircase," he apologised, "You would like my plans for the attic."

I said, "The downstairs, your meticulous renovations are awesome!"

Yet I sighed sadly, "You remember the old Federation place in our neighbourhood?"

I saw his eyes acknowledge 'yes.'

I lowered my head, remembering the day we trespassed.

"It was demolished," I stated.

Josh groaned, "That's a complete shame."

"Yes," I continued, giving him the details. "The intricate ornate ironwork of a bygone era became scrap metal. A council meeting condemned the mansion."

My mate inquired, "What happened to the site?"

As it depressed me, I rattled off fast, "They made a new subdivision, houses as dull as the rest. Some of the estate grounds became extra parkland. The council erected a meaningless historical plaque which no one bothers to read."

Josh cheered me by taking me to his sunlit patio for afternoon tea. Rhea and the girls enjoyed the sunshine, stretching their legs and wriggling toes. My mate checked his watch.

"My girlfriend will be here soon when she finishes work."

Josh continued, his smile expanding, "Her name is Bianca, and she is the local vet."

I recalled this from his letters. He politely chose to remind me before we met her. My mate looked content. In his last letter, he wrote he may have found 'someone, at last, for the future.'

While we waited, we shared a cool drink and a plate of sliced oranges and pears. Josh was terrific with our girls. He let them loose in his vast backyard and strawberry patch. The four girls ventured on an eye-popping and mouth-filling time in the rows.

My mate's girlfriend arrived.

I guessed Bianca's age, in her late thirties. Well, Josh and I were in our early forties. She had light reddish hair, and her height was about five-two.

Josh introduced us, and Bianca shook Rhea's and my hand; her clasp lasted for a few seconds, engendering empathy. Josh's face shone when he glanced at her. Bianca wore a classic cream short-sleeved blouse and light blue designer jeans; she was a spiffy dresser. Her hazel eyes twinkled when glancing at Josh.

Rhea and Bianca found plenty to share, including their interest in needlework and cooking. Once the pair started talking needlepoint, Josh and I were lost, with no idea when they chatted about bargello and flame stitch. Their fingers weaved in a delightful unison of understanding. I pictured Rhea's long-term project, a patchwork quilted cover for our bed. Their gestures were equally expansive later as they shared souffle secrets.

Our girls quit the strawberry patch, bursting as a pack onto the patio, disturbing adult talk. Josh immediately prompted the girls to follow him.

Rhea and Bianca waved as they darted off, myself in tow. Josh urged them farther into a vast vegetable garden.

"These carrots and radishes need pulling. Mmm, who is going to help me?" he excitedly baited.

Eight eager hands commenced yanking carrots and radishes left, right and centre.

"What do you think?" he asked.

He wasn't talking about my girls' mess in his garden or on their dresses.

"Mate, if you're happy, I'm happy for you," I responded.

Standing right next to him, I hope he missed my flinch.

A sway away and back, and within it, I pictured Coral and the boathouse. Coral and me when it should have been my mate and her.

"Bianca's been great," he added.

I saw his eyes rise to gaze at the house. He paused in awe.

I admired too, appreciating his massive ongoing commitment.

"Though she doesn't like this huge stately home. There is no phone line, as you know. I use a generator. Soon, I'll have to sell and move into town to live with Bianca. I should move on."

He kept his eyes focused on the house as he tucked his upper lip and crossed his arms.

Like my mate, I discerned this house comprised more than weatherboards and decorative iron; it framed a home.

"I hope it works out," I offered.

On the surface, it sounded like Josh earnestly sought a life partner and would surrender old dreams to embrace new ones. I knew first-hand the quality of his restoration.

He had years of work ahead of him here if he stayed! 

Though still unfinished, it already deserved to be called home.

Perhaps this was the architect in me. 

Or the romantic, a home needs a partner who calls it home.

Happy children overrode humourless adult thoughts — as my girls surrounded Josh, swaying brimmed buckets.

I chuckled, "What will you do with four buckets of carrots and radishes? You will be eating salad food for a month!"

He urged the girls, "Take the vegetables to Bianca. She will use them to feed animals at the local shelter."

The girls raced ahead. Miranda's skinny legs were in the lead, Alicja and Alina were side by side, and little Phoebe trailed a distant last until Josh grabbed her bucket. I scooped her and raced to catch Miranda.

We called time on our afternoon with Josh and Bianca before continuing to Melbourne.

Rhea and I gave a warm goodbye to the pair.

Having experienced great fun, our girls chimed, "Bye, Uncle Josh!"

They grabbed and hugged him everywhere they could, circling his massive thighs and muscly extended arms.

Into our renewed drive, I quizzed Rhea, "What do you think?"

Our girls, exhausted, dozed.

"Anyone can make it work," she said and turned on the radio — low volume.

I joined her soft hum to The Beachboys, Then I Kissed Her.

We arrived at my parent's place and shared a late roast dinner. When the kids' grandparents read them a bedtime story — Rhea offered her fuller opinion, "The partner for Josh is Coral."

She sounded considered and sure.

Rhea hadn't seen them together. She met them separately on chance occasions.

Josh and Coral liked Rhea. I could tell they appreciated her genuine nature.

I replied, "The problem is - they both currently have someone else."

Rhea tilted her head at me; her chin nursed between her thumb and forefinger. 

We checked on our girls.

I followed Rhea from the dining room, my cheeks burning. I pinched my lips as I recalled how I threw in the towel on my best friends in the boathouse.

Together, we tucked in our kids and later chatted with my parents.

Aside, I asked my mum and dad to babysit the girls tomorrow night.

When my parents bade us goodnight, we sat alone in the lounge.

I said, "Rhea, we have a free evening coming."

This surprised my wife; her mouth fell open.

She followed it playfully, swatting my rump.

Rhea and I were overdue for a romantic night out for two.

I moved closer, and my finger touched her parted lips.

Her eyes offered me her total self.

Rhea deserved the romance, and hand in hand, we glided to the bedroom.