Three Over Par Read online

  Sun warmed my back as I opened the box and lifted out the soggy catalogues, and I was so distracted by the loveliness of it I didn’t register the small green-and-silver-striped parcel until I had the letterbox lid half lowered. I blinked and then looked around me, unsure what this meant. No one had left me a gift before. The staff and residents of Hakea Lodge celebrated birthdays with morning teas of diabetic cake and a card signed by everyone. The two women who were my local friends had taken me out for dinner the previous week and presented me with a voucher for the local nursery. And from the very few golf club ladies who remembered, I’d receive nothing but a “Happy Birthday.”

  Presents in my letterbox were unprecedented.

  I searched the street again in the faint expectation that whoever had secreted the box might be watching. Sunshine sparkled on dewy lawns. Magpies warbled to one another or stalked stray worms. At the end of the street, the community nurse’s car slid into old Mr. Reynold’s drive. I scanned parked cars, trees and gardens but the street remained normal.

  The package was the size of my palm and the depth of a finger. I turned it over, searching for clues, and shook my head at how stupid I was being. Answers would come from opening, not looking. I carried it inside, dumping the junk mail in the bin and tossing the wet envelope on the dining room table, and sat down at my kitchen bench to contemplate the present once more.

  The paper was pretty, dark green and silver foil, and held together with a single embossed silver sticker. Carefully, I picked at the sticker, exhaling loudly when it peeled away easily and the wrapping popped open like a bursting spring bud. The certainty that this gift was special whirred deep in my bones, and I wanted to keep every part of it intact. I smoothed the folds flat, exposing a dark blue velvet box. The sort you find in a jeweller’s.

  I hauled in a jagged breath, anticipation eddying in my stomach, and levered open the lid. A tiny card lay nestled inside, plain green and without salutation. I lifted it out and gasped as the remainder of the box’s contents were exposed. My fingers darted to my mouth and pressed, trembling, against my lips.

  Lying on padded velvet and threaded on a brown leather thong was a silver and green enamel starfish.

  My fingers still quivering, I opened the card and read the neatly printed inscription.

  To Lucy. Happy birthday. Daniel.

  Tears slid, hot and happy, down my cheeks. With bleary eyes I unhooked the leather thong from the stays and removed the necklace from the box, holding it up to admire it. It sparkled in the shaft of sunlight streaming through my kitchen window. My flicker of hope in a bleak world.

  The design was exactly the sort I liked. Simple, with flowing lines and vibrant colours. Lovely and perfect.

  And most of all, from Daniel.

  I spent the remainder of the morning in a state of nervous excitement, constantly fingering the starfish hanging around my throat and admiring it in mirrors. My eyes glittered with the thrill of it, the elation of what this gift could mean. My golf lesson couldn’t come fast enough.

  I arrived at the golf club early. The eighth was too far away and I was too hyped to put up with the Pro’s teasing. I needed to see Daniel, to look into his eyes and behold the yearning I once thought I had imagined and now knew was real.

  The Pro waved at me through the pro shop window as I hurried past the clubhouse. I gave him a perfunctory acknowledgement and kept walking toward the greenkeeper’s shed. In the distance, sunlight sparkled off Daniel’s distinctive vehicle, a metallic blue ute. He was at work, somewhere, and though he could be anywhere out on the course and impossible to locate, I wanted to try anyway.

  I ignored the red Staff Only Past This Point sign planted near the shed. My focus was on Daniel, hunkered beside the greens’ mower, fiddling with something. As I approached, he rose and turned, his beautiful autumnal eyes raking my face before settling on my precious necklace. His small smile turned my heart flip-flopping.

  I halted, suddenly shy, my fingers flitting to the starfish. Though I had spent all morning rehearsing what I’d say, in his presence words seemed inadequate. Nothing could convey what this gift meant to me, what he meant to me.

  “The necklace, it’s…” I raised a useless hand as though the word I sought could be snatched from the air. “It’s perfect, Daniel. Thank you.”

  His gaze returned to mine, soft and so filled with genuine pleasure it sent a spurt of joy through my veins. He moved toward me, that lovely smile still creasing his eyes and quirking his mouth.

  I grinned ecstatically back, swooning like a lovesick teenager at last noticed by the school hunk. “How does it look?”

  He lifted the starfish, his cool fingers caressing my skin and shooting tiny electric shocks across my flesh. “It looks good.”

  I placed my hand over his and pressed it to my chest. I wanted him to feel how hard my heart beat. How his touch, his everything, affected me.

  He shook his head. “Lucy—” His eyes darted over my shoulder. He yanked his hand away and took a step backward, plunging both fists into his pockets. “You shouldn’t be here.”

  “I had to come. To thank you.”

  “You’re welcome but now you have to go.” He cast another anxious glance over my shoulder. I turned to look but there was nothing there, only the distant clubhouse. “Now, Lucy.”

  “But—”

  His voice was hoarse and hard, yet apology blunted his expression. “Just leave. You’re only making things worse.”

  “Worse? I don’t understand. I thought—”

  He turned from me and knelt back down beside the mower, his shoulders hunched and his head down. It was a dismissal and it stung like a million paper cuts. A sob rose in my throat, a great spiked ball of crushed dreams.

  I took a tentative step toward him. “Daniel?”

  “For Christ’s sake, will you just go?”

  He didn’t need to tell me again. Though my limbs trembled and developing tears burned my eyes, I walked away from him straight backed. Misery might have taken over my soul but if there was one thing my elderly patients had taught me, it was the power of dignity.

  I held the fragments of myself together long enough to tell the Pro I didn’t feel well and was cancelling my lesson, and escape to my car. Though our relationship was based around sex, the Pro possessed enough gallantry to ask what Daniel had done to upset me. He’d stepped out of the shop for a moment to tidy some empty sand buckets and seen us together and it didn’t take much brainpower to determine Daniel was responsible for my state.

  The Pro’s expression boiled with fury. “I mean it, Luce. I’ll fucking kill him if he’s hurt you.”

  I shook my head, clutching at the necklace that only a short time ago had made me so happy. “Daniel didn’t do anything. I just feel a bit off.” I raised a wobbly smile. “Girl problems.”

  The Pro suspected I was lying but had the sense to stay silent, though his hands remained clenched and a red flush crawled up his neck. I patted his arm and mumbled thanks for his concern before bolting to my car.

  That evening I sat at my dining table picking listlessly at a bowl of pasta and rereading the five words Daniel had written on that tiny card. By that stage I’d recovered enough wits to determine that his reaction had been caused by the sight of the Pro, though why that would affect him, I wasn’t sure. Perhaps he was embarrassed by his gift, that he thought the show of affection somehow weak, but Daniel didn’t strike me as the sort of person who would care. He seemed too confident in his masculinity.

  He liked me. He had to. No one could fake the look he gave me when I arrived wearing his gift. So why the abrupt change on seeing the Pro? Was it wrong to visit him like that, like a proper girlfriend would? Perhaps that was my mistake. Once again, I had read too much into things. I was just a fuck, the necklace a thank-you gift. And he was ashamed. Of me, of all of us and what we did.

  The idea had me pushing my bowl away and laying my head on the table in despair. I had to stop this stupidity before it br
oke me into a thousand messy pieces. Except that would mean relinquishing the little I had with Daniel, those scraps of spirit-warming tenderness he bestowed when we made love. They meant something, those scraps. Just as the look he gave me that morning meant something. Daniel wasn’t ashamed of our activities. If he were, he’d have ceased to join in long ago. No, his issue ran deeper. Perhaps directly to his heart.

  The phone interrupted my thoughts. Expecting work or my family, I answered it dully.

  “Lucy, it’s Daniel.” His voice was quiet and wary, as if he expected me to hang up the moment he identified himself.

  “Daniel, hi.” My hand went to the necklace, my shattered hope rebuilding once more. Daniel had never called me before. I didn’t know he knew my number, though it would be easy enough to discover. “How are you?”

  His long exhalation carried over the phone. “I’ve been better.” He paused and went on. “Look, about today, I owe you an apology. I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that. I’m sorry.”

  “And I guess I shouldn’t have come to you at work but I thought…” I swallowed and clenched my hand tight around the starfish, letting the pointed arms dig into my palm. My hurt was too raw and I was still too uncertain of his motives to expose my true feelings. “I wanted to thank you.”

  “I know you did.” His breath brushed the mouthpiece and filtered in my ear. I closed my eyes, imagining him with me. “I’m really glad you liked it.”

  “I do. It’s beautiful.”

  Silence fell between us but to me it felt companionable, like lovers sharing a moment of intimacy.

  “You cancelled your lesson.”

  “I was upset.”

  His reply came soft and heartfelt. “Christ, Lucy. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “No it’s not.”

  I smiled. “It is.” With one phone call he’d made it okay.

  “What did Robbie say?”

  I frowned, wondering why it would matter. Robbie had no influence on my life beyond sex. Surely Daniel understood that. “Nothing.”

  “He didn’t say anything to me either.” He hesitated, and when he spoke his voice was rough with apprehension, as though he feared my reply. “Will you come next week?”

  My heart soared like a released balloon. “Do you want me to?”

  “You know I do.”

  “Then I’ll be there.”

  The following week we met up on the eighth but there were too many out on the course to risk sex. The Pro stayed in the cart while I ducked into the trees to fetch my ball. He’d shaken his head when I deliberately hooked my shot in that direction.

  “Not today, babe.”

  I smiled ruefully. “Sorry. Habit.”

  It was no such thing. I wanted to see Daniel. To see if there might be some legitimacy to the idea uncurling in my mind.

  He was there, waiting beside a tree and tossing my ball in his hand. He smiled, eyes lighting up like a forest fire, and then frowned when he realised the Pro wasn’t with me.

  “Where’s Robbie?”

  I snatched the ball mid-toss and dropped it in my skirt pocket. “In the cart. It’s a bit too busy today.”

  Though it was cold, I’d left the front buttons on my long-sleeved polo shirt undone. The starfish necklace rested near the base of my throat. Daniel lifted it from my skin and rubbed the enamel surface. My heart thumped as the back of his hand touched my tingling flesh. After a few seconds he let it drop, his expression bleak.

  “You’d better get back to him, then.”

  I glanced over my shoulder. Tangled scrub screened us from the Pro’s view. This was my chance to be alone with Daniel, and my excitement bubbled like a geyser. His sombre mood was probably because he thought the Pro would interrupt any second and spoil this special moment.

  I turned to face him once more and smiled broadly. “We’ve a few minutes.”

  “Lucy—”

  “Just kiss me, Daniel.”

  He shook his head. “I can’t.”

  “Please.”

  He stood silently for a moment, his brow furrowed, before sliding his hands up either side of my neck to cradle my head as though I were a china doll. My insides fluttered with the launch of a thousand love-dusted butterflies. His breath caressed my lips as he gazed at me with soft eyes.

  My lids drooped in expectation of his kiss, the touch that would tell him where my happiness belonged. Instead, he pressed his forehead against my brow, his eyes focussed intently on mine, and spoke. “There’s only two things that matter to me, Lucy, and one of them I’m fast losing.”

  He stopped and swallowed. I cupped my hand over his cheek, feeling the roughness of his stubble, the rigidity of his jaw. His eyes closed for a brief moment, as if he were drawing strength. When they opened they were replete with determination.

  “You can have everything else. Just leave me with a bit of pride.” And with that cryptic statement, he dropped his hands to my shoulders and gently pushed me toward the fairway.

  Confusion plugged my feet in the damp soil and leaf litter. I loved him. Why would I want to take away his pride? Why would I want anything from him but his heart, a heart, I was beginning to suspect, that already belonged to me?

  When he realised I wasn’t going to move, he sighed and dropped a kiss on my forehead. “You’d better go.” He sounded tired, worn down and infinitely sad. “Robbie will be getting worried.”

  As he trudged away, I found my tremulous voice. “Daniel?”

  He halted and looked at the canopy, as though seeking help from nature.

  “Hurry up, Luce. There’s a group waiting on the tee!”

  I glanced hurriedly over my shoulder, cursing the Pro’s impatience, and caught his silhouette through the scrub. I had little time. My question tumbled out on a needy rush. “Why did you give me the necklace?”

  Daniel didn’t answer. Instead, he cast me a look so penetrating and hurt, my heart constricted as though he’d reached inside my chest and crushed it in his strong fist. As the Pro brushed grumpily through the trees, he shoved his hands in his pockets and crunched wearily out of sight.

  I wore the necklace every day. It sat snuggled against my throat, the silver warm and comforting. Sometimes when I bent, it slipped out from my behind the folds of my shirt and dangled against my chin. At those moments I’d stop to caress it and indulge in a moment’s fantasy. He may have rejected me, but I’d never forget the look Daniel wore when he saw me approach with his gift shining in the delicate hollow of my neck.

  Though never at the expense of my patients and duties, I made an even greater effort to be in Mrs. Haddon’s vicinity on Thursdays, timing my needless blood pressure monitoring for when he was due to appear. Any notion I was being subtle was ruined the day she came right out and asked me if I had a “thing” for her grandson. Though I shook my head, my blush told her all she needed to know and from that day on, whenever Daniel and I met in her room, awkward and tongue-tied on my part, silent and unfathomable on his, Mrs. Haddon would eye us with the sort of sly smile only the elderly can summon. A smile filled with years of experience and wisdom.

  “You know he likes you, don’t you, love?” she announced one Thursday lunchtime when I had once more contrived to be in her room.

  “Somehow I doubt that, Mrs. Haddon.”

  “Well don’t. He mightn’t say much, that boy, but I can tell.”

  I returned to packing up the blood pressure monitor, thinking. There were times when I thought I could tell also but Daniel was so contrary, I found it impossible to know what to believe. He still made love to me with sensitivity and unabashed tenderness. Soft whispers asking me what I liked, whether he could touch me. Eyes melting into mine as if this was communion and not sex. Once we were done though, he turned his back, leaving me to the Pro and my see-sawing emotions.

  “He could do with a nice girl like you.”

  Old people, I’d learned, had no respect for subtlety. They didn’t have time for it.

>   I tossed her a cheeky grin. “Who says I’m nice?”

  “Aww, get away with you, love.” She laughed and waved her hand at me. “You’re a good girl.”

  As soon as her words were out, I was struck with a discomfiting thought. Was I a good girl? There was once a time when I’d thought I was. Now, I didn’t know, and it made me realise how utterly sick I was of this stupid game I’d been playing. The game I’d been losing. Badly.

  Irritation gave me courage. I pulled in a lungful of air, at last ready to expose myself, if only a little. “You know what, Mrs. Haddon? Perhaps it’s about time someone told your grandson that.”

  She humphed and pursed her wrinkled lips, hazel eyes twinkling with mischief. Another thing I’d learned. There was nothing like an old person with a mission. “Well, love, I just might do that.”

  I glanced at her wall clock. Daniel would be arriving any moment and although I wanted to see him, my spirit was too bruised and fragile to endure another of his snubs. And from the look in Mrs. Haddon’s eyes, she was liable to make an awkward situation even more uncomfortable.

  I patted her arm and made for the door. “I’ll see you later, okay? Enjoy your lunch.”

  “Oh, I will, love,” she replied with a chuckle. “Don’t you worry, I will.”

  Despite my mood, the sheer mischievousness in her expression brought a smile to my face, and it remained in place as I padded out into the hall. Perhaps I needed a bored and interfering geriatric fighting in my corner. I’d had no success with Daniel on my own. If anything, my pathetic attempts at contact only seemed to make things worse.

  I checked my watch and inspected the hall in both directions. Daniel should have been striding along the lino, scrubbed and pressed for his date. Though I had work to attend and couldn’t wait for him like a lovesick fool, I still hesitated. Seconds passed. I cast a glance behind me, toward Mrs. Haddon’s room, and sighed in resignation. It wasn’t the first day I’d missed him and it wouldn’t be the last. Life had to go on in all its happiness and heartache-filled glory.