15 015

I didn't realise I had closed my eyes. Perhaps it was a survival instinct: every other sense in my body was so alive, so bristling with energy, that if I opened my eyes as well, my brain might not be able to handle the explosion of feeling and light. I'd fall comatose into a world where the air sounded like electricity, music tasted like vibration, and the earth smelled vibrantly green. I didn't need my eyes anyway. Every cell in my body was acutely, agonisingly aware of Buddy standing there, wrapping me in himself, so close together I could almost hear his heartbeat.

"I'm not going anywhere, Bea."

I was ready to melt into him, forget everything else and just be his forever, damn the consequences.

"And that's why," he added, voice still low and gravelly, "I won't do anything until you're ready."

I felt him move away, just fractionally, just enough to cut the electricity buzzing between our bodies.

"I'll wait for you." I finally dragged my eyelids open, looking him in the eye as he continued. "I meant it when I said it the first time, Bea. I'm for you. I want to be with you. And I'll wait as long as you need."

There was something like sadness in his eyes, but it was masked by a much stronger force that told me, irrefutably, that I was safe with him, and that he wouldn't hurt me.

I looked down, blinking. It didn't make sense how I was feeling. Nothing made sense. I felt desolate now that he'd stepped back, like a dried up riverbed. But hadn't I been the one pushing him away? Wasn't this space what I had wanted? Wasn't I the one who had told him I needed to take it slow? But he was the one pressing the brake, stepping back. All I wanted was to dive into him, to hell with my brain and its logic.

"Thank you," I managed to whisper. He smiled at me, and pulled me into a warm, gentle hug. I put my arms around him, my head resting on his shoulder. Inside me, the waterfall rush of emotions that had been crashing and bubbling against each other began to soothe. He was here, he was with me, and he would wait for me. It was more than I could ask for.

The door opened without warning, Lena bursting out in front of us, the moment dissolving like a dream.

"Well hello, lovebirds, look at you two canoodling. You know she's got a queen size bed in there, right?" She winked at Buddy, nudging him with her elbow. I blushed and smacked the back of her head. "I'm off to the beach," she said, frowning at me and rubbing her head. "Enjoy your day, kids."

She squeezed between us and sauntered to her car, waggling her eyebrows at me when Buddy turned away.

"She's got a lot of personality, doesn't she?" Buddy asked thoughtfully as she reversed her car out onto the road. We both smiled and waved her off.

"Shiploads," I replied through bared teeth in a wide grin.

"Time to test out Mr Packer's pancake recipe," Buddy said as we turned to head inside.

Half an hour later we sat munching on perfectly fluffy pancakes drizzled with maple syrup and topped with puffs of whipped cream. Between mouthfuls, we talked about how to get Buddy a fake identity. Buddy had learned from the morning's research that it would cost thousands of dollars, and take several weeks to get the IDs made up. The backpack guy didn't appear to know any more than that. We knew his contact details, and how to find him in Perth - he operated out of the back of a dry cleaners, and we had to ask about their "bespoke tailoring service" to get in.

"I've got a few grand saved up," I said, mouth full of pancake, "but it's not a lot and I really need to keep some on hand for emergencies. We're going to have to think of some way to get our hands on a lot of cash. And preferably not get ourselves a criminal record in the process."

"I don't want to use your savings for this. What we're going to do is still illegal, and the less you're implicated, the better." Buddy frowned, thoughtful. "There are a few ways I could make some money fairly quickly. Someone in town knew of a few farms that pay well and are happy to pay cash off the books. It would take a few weeks, but I could save up that way." He chewed another mouthful before adding, "I do have one other idea that could be quicker, but is probably more risky too."

I raised my eyebrows at him.

"Poker," he explained. My eyebrows moved even higher.

"Gambling?" I replied dubiously.

"Hear me out," he said, putting down his fork and knife and looking at me seriously. "I learned the basic rules from backpack guy's mind. I know how to play the game. If I could manage to touch the other players, I'd know their strategies and styles. If I touched them at the right time I could even know their exact hand. I think I could do it."

I chewed slowly, wondering if it would work. It'd be a sure thing in the movies, but this was real life, and things didn't always work out like they did in films. Sure, we had Buddy's superpower to help us out, but it still hinged on luck too much for my liking.

"I don't know. I think it might be better to stick to honest work," I said doubtfully.

"Alright, if you think that's best," Buddy said with a dramatic sigh.

"You can get your poker fix another time," I chuckled. "Anyway, it won't take us long to save. You don't have any extra expenses really, so we can just save everything you make."

We cleared up our breakfast and tidied the kitchen, then Buddy announced he had to go out.

"I've got work to find," he explained.

"And how are you planning to get there?" I queried, eyebrows raised, arms crossed over my chest. "You wouldn't have been planning to do your weird alien thing, would you?"

He grinned. "Busted. But surely if I don't let anyone see me change, it shouldn't matter?"

"Except that the farmers might wonder how someone came strolling out of their shed out of nowhere," I said, rolling my eyes. "Come on, I'll drive you."

We made coffees to take with us in travel cups and drove out past the sprawling, frayed edges of town and eventually emerged onto clear tree-lined roads that meandered lazily around the gentle hills that curved like a woman's hips. The sky was bright and clear, and the sunshine felt crisper than usual, glinting brightly off the car's side mirrors. We drove for twenty minutes, Buddy directing me as we moved further away from town and into the more rural surrounding areas. I was familiar with a lot of the local farmers through my work at the newspaper, so once we'd taken a few turns, I knew where we were headed. There was a large orchard nearby that had been run by the Carlotti family for over seventy years. I'd interviewed several of the family members over the years. They seemed like good, hard working people, and had been heavily involved in the community too.

We pulled into their farm a few minutes later, entering a large open yard area onto which several large sheds opened. A few tractors and other machinery and implements were parked haphazardly around the yard, and a driveway led up the hill to the house where the Mr and Mrs Carlotti Senior lived. The first shed was full of huge crates of apples, pears, apricots and nectarines, but there didn't seem to be any people about. We eventually found the office in the next shed, and introduced ourselves to Ben Carlotti, one of the sons of the family and a popular local footy player. He was friendly and polite, and remembered me from a few newspaper interviews. He told us there'd definitely be work for Buddy, but the hours would be long and the work tiring. Buddy assured him he'd be fine, and to my surprise, told him that he'd worked in orchards before. We spoke a few minutes more, ending with Buddy promising to be at work at 7am Monday morning. As we were leaving, I asked Buddy about the previous orchard experience.

"When he shook my hand, I absorbed all his knowledge about the business. I'm basically an expert apple grower now," he said, smirking slightly.

I rolled my eyes as we reached the car. Glancing back into the packing shed, I paused when I saw two figures in the shadows. Something about their postures niggled at my suspicions, and I watched for a few moments more before brushing it off and opening the car door. At the sound, the two figures abruptly looked up, and I heard one hiss out a cuss word before they ducked out of sight behind a wall of crates. I frowned as I started up the car. That was definitely not normal behaviour. Something was going on at Carlotti's orchard, and as a journalist, I couldn't help but be intrigued. I'd do a little discrete digging and see if there was anything to it. After all, I thought, glancing at Buddy, I already had a mole in place. It couldn't hurt to do a little investigative journalism.