Trembling, I ran my fingertips over the smooth surface of the piano keys. I hit a humble c-chord and the glorious sound echoed around the empty house.
It had been two days since I'd embarrassed myself in the changing room. Humiliated, I'd paid for the dress, snatched the first pair of size six heels I saw and fled to the ute. We drove back up the mountain without speaking; I wasn't sure if it was me ignoring him or him ignoring me, but we both seemed relieved to let the mixtape fill the silence.
Since then, something had stirred inside me, despite the fact North and I hadn't really spoken again. Perhaps it was the recognition of how he made me feel, like part of me was still alive and waiting to regenerate. Or maybe it was the exposure to so much of the music I'd loved and had blocked from my life.
Either way, the last few days had seen me desperately trying to keep myself from singing—all the time. For half a decade, I'd squelched my desire to sing; it was too dangerous. As much as I didn't look like Duchess anymore, I lived terrified under the belief that my voice would have given me away instantly.
Butter melted with honey, musical sex, unique and broken. Critics around the world had all come up with their own imaginative nonsense to describe my singing voice. I could still remember the Rolling Stone article word for word: 'I was driving along the freeway the first time I heard the Duchess sing. Her soulful voice poured from my speakers, anguished and torn, with the hopeful huskiness of a woman who still believes in redemption. I literally had to stop the car, overcome with spontaneous emotion, something that doesn't happen every day to this hardened reviewer.'
I ignored the hype. It was just my voice and I'd never known any different. As a waif in the foster system, music had been my only friend. I'd sung to keep myself company, for comfort, to stay sane. Whenever I could get my hands on a guitar or piano, I tinkered relentlessly until I could pick out a tune and accompany myself.
In high school, I'd won a few hundred bucks in a talent quest, and the knowledge that singing could actually earn me a wage was a heady high. I busked in the city every afternoon on my way home, money piling up inside my guitar case.
That was where Darren found me. The first words he ever said to me were, "If you can give head as good as you can sing, this is going to be the start of a beautiful friendship."
But it's been five years. Surely, everyone has forgotten now? Splaying my fingers wide on the keys, I played a simple chord progression. The vibrations from the notes thrummed in my chest and I felt my body relax into the music I'd missed so much.
It was the first time in ages I'd had the house to myself; there were no guests arriving until the next day, Mrs Waters was at bingo, and Dr Mike had driven North to the hospital in Alex for a CT scan. The baby grand in the sitting room had called to me like a late-night sext, and I'd been unable to resist.
Avoiding my own hits, I played some old school tunes. Starting with Piano Man, through to Learn to Fly, music poured out of me, wave after wave of healing sound.
Aussie music had always been my favourite. Gotye waved at me once at an industry event and I melted into a silly puddle of giggling girlish goop. The memory made me cringe, but I couldn't deny it; the man could write a song like nobody's business.
Plinking out the opening melody, I sang, "Now and then, I think of when we were together. Like when you said you felt so happy, you could die."
Darren used to croon the hit at me as we lay naked on his bed. He'd strum his guitar the way he'd just strummed my body, and rasp along, turning the song of sadness and loss into something bitter and dark.
I remembered how the room smelled after sex, how for those few minutes I felt as though I'd found my place in the world, by his side. No matter what else I endured to be his girl, I knew he needed me, his brokenness a perfect match for mine. Together, I was sure we could fix each other.
"But you didn't have to cut me off, make out like it never happened and that we were nothing." I raised my voice high, letting the acoustics of the vast wooden house transform my song into a symphony. "Guess that I don't need that, though. Now, you're just somebody that I used to know."
I held the last note, resonating through my chest, expelling my grief into the sound. As it faded away, I leaned my head forward, resting my head against the cold lacquer.
"Bloody oath, lady, that was amazeballs!"
The ocker female voice from the door made me jolt. I spun and saw an elegant girl in a pastel twinset over a white linen skirt. With her layered and highlighted hair and pretty pearls, she appeared like a wealthy socialite, cultured and perfect.
It was just a shame the way she spoke sounded like Kath and Kim caricature. "I'm telling yewse," she said, rushing up to me in a cloud of expensive perfume, "I just about crapped my pants! Who are you, chicky?"
I pushed away from the piano, feeling cornered. "I could ask you the same thing."
She laughed boisterously. "Oh em gee, you're a crack up!"
"This is Jamie Patton, Ems." North leaned on the door frame, a combination of amusement and wonder on his wolverine face. "We met at the hospital and she gave me a ride home."
Jamie's shiny pink lips formed a perfect O. "Seriously, you didn't know who I was? How is that even possumble?"
Her mispronunciation threw me. "Um... I don't really get out much?"
"At all," said North, crossing to the kitchen. "Jamie, you still want that cuppa?"
"Ta, darl." The heiress turned to me. "I'm totes excited to have found you, love, you're just what I've been telling Jacoby we need for the wedding."
Hooking her tanned arm through mine, she drew me into the kitchen, and I was too stunned to resist. "Jacoby? Mr Mason, right." I'd met her fiancé a few weeks before when he toured the grounds with Mrs Waters, who took great delight in reminding him about all the times he'd run naked across her lawn as a child. "Yeah, we decided that I'll be manning the house here, to make sure the caterers have what they need, and checking coats and stuff."
"No, darl, no! I want you to sing!" Her coffee coloured eyes danced in excitement. "We were supposed to have Marina Prior fly in to sing me down the aisle, but now she's got some scheduling bugger-up, and I want you!"
I froze, the blood screeching to a halt in my veins. In my woollen beanie and chunky sweater, I looked as far from Duchess as possible, just a scruffy country girl with a special voice.
But in a pretty dress, with the eyes of five hundred people on me and the photos displayed to the world, there was no way I wouldn't be recognised.
"That's really nice of you," I started, tugging at my beanie to cover even more of my face, "but I don't sing in public. I'm actually a bit shy."
"Yeah, Jacoby said something about a weirdo hermit chick living with Mrs Waters," she trilled. North stifled a laugh, handing her a delicate china cup of tea as she continued. "But, whatevs. I love your voice, sweets, and what I love, I always get!"
"I'm sorry, Miss Patton, but I can't help you." I tried to draw myself up on my sneakers, hoping some height would help me be convincing.
But, blasé on six-inch kitten heels, she overrode me. "Ew, don't call me that. I'm Jamie, and you and I are going to be mates, I know it. Let's do lunch, yeah?"
It wasn't really a question. "Yeah?"
"I'm here next week again; how 'bout I come get you Friday arvo? Marylands do a wicked snag sandwich and their chardy is bloody unreal. See you at noon." She drained her cup and clacked over to North. "You, ya sexy beast, gimme a cuddle!"
"Any time, Jamie-girl!" He wrapped her inside his long arms, and I noticed how nicely they were filling in, the muscles roping more thickly every day. He lifted her quickly, then set her down and said, "On your way, bridey-poos!"
Shrieking with laughter, she blew him a kiss. "Later, Wolfie!"
After she was gone, I raised an eyebrow. "Wolfie? Bridey-poos? How long have you two known each other?"
"I don't know, two hours?"
"Of course." With their outlandish personalities, sunny dispositions and appealing looks, I wasn't surprised North and Jamie had become instant besties.
North pinned me with a glinting stare. "You said you couldn't sing."
I deflected. "You said you wouldn't be back until five."
"I met Jamie handing out loom-band kits to the kids on the paediatrics ward, and she offered me a ride back early."
Despite my misgivings about the rough-as-guts heiress, I had to admire her style. "Still."
"Ems, seriously." He reached for my hand, sparks flying between our skin. "You can't keep something like that under wraps. Your voice, I've never heard anything like it."
Thank the Lord for that. Either North had never heard any of my songs, or he didn't remember them. Both worked for me. I withdrew my hand, trying to change the subject. "How am I going to get out of this stupid lunch?"
"You're not," he said, grabbing a fresh loaf of banana bread from the cupboard. Carving off a large slice, he handed it to me. "Do you really think that girl is going to take no for an answer, on anything? Go and chat with her. She's a cool chick."
Nervously, I picked at the fragrant snack while North crammed his mouth full. "I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm not exactly good with people."
He laughed through the bread. "That's an understatement." He saw my terrified face and relented, swallowing. "Look, you'll be fine. Why don't you join everybody for dinner this weekend? You'd make Mrs W pretty happy, and you can practice your rusty social skills on the guests."
I wanted to run screaming into my room, to throw my meagre possessions into a duffle bag and hit the road. I had my ute and a couple of hundred bucks in cash; I could find another small town, another unskilled job, and start over again. It would probably be even easier the second time.
When I'd first fled Melbourne, I'd run to India. I didn't have a particularly great reason for my destination, other that the flight to Mumbai was the first to leave Tullamarine airport. I spent over a year trekking around that gorgeous continent with nothing but a backpack and a complete lack of direction.
But the money ran out. I needed a job and a place to call home. I flew back to Australia, trying to make a living in Sydney. I didn't want to use my real name though, which meant no tax file number and no ID. No one in the CBD would have a bar of me.
I fell in with a crowd of Norwegian backpackers, who were headed for the Great Ocean Road in an aging Combi, but the damn thing conked out just two kilometers outside of Marysville. I walked into town with the group; we stayed the night at Mrs Waters place, freshly rebuilt after the fires, and completely empty. The next day, the rest of them moved on and I didn't.
It's not too late to run again.
But with North's calm clear eyes trained on me as if he already knew what I was thinking, the flight option didn't seem as simple or desirable.
If I can sit and have a lunch with Jamie, make her my friend, maybe she'll accept it better when I say no to her offer again. It was worth a shot.
Pressing my lips into a hard line, I nodded. "Dinner it is."
"Great!" North grinned, then said, "Hey, about the other day... in the changing room—"
"Forget it. Nothing happened." I cut him off and walked out of the kitchen. Nothing had happened, technically, but that hadn't stopped my brain from running that moment on repeat every night as I lay in bed chasing sleep; North's compliments, the touch of his fingers against my back, the drag of the zipper, the exposure to the air and his eyes.
Nothing happened, but I was fooling myself if I said I hadn't wanted it to.
North followed me down the hall. "I know nothing happened, I just thought that maybe you thought it would, and I'm not exactly—"
"North! Would you drop it? Please!" I blocked him from entering my room, my eyes hot with either rage or tears. "Nothing happened. End of discussion."
"Alright, alright." The big man waved his hands in surrender. "I just wanted to explain, but if you don't want to hear, I can't make you listen."
"No. You can't." I closed my door, shutting him out. But even while I listened to his footsteps fade, I wished that he hadn't let me push him away.
***
It was Thursday and I was nervous. All day, I'd been fluttering around the guest house, panicked about joining the dinner table the following day.
Mrs Waters finally banged her tea mug down. "Alright, enough! Emily, you've been cleaning that same set of champagne flutes for an hour; they're not getting any cleaner, girl!"
Frenetic, I stacked them away. "That's okay, I was going to wipe down the inside of the fridge and maybe clean the skirting boards again—"
"No, you're not. Get out." The older lady stood over me with a not-to-be-argued-with look on her face.
"What? Why?"
"Because you've been driving me mad all day! I don't know what's gotten into you, but I want it out of my house." She spun me around and untied my apron, pulling off my jeans and tee.
I balked. "Where am I supposed to go? There's not much to do in this town, in case you haven't noticed." The tiny mountain berg of Marysville had no cinema, no library, no pool and limited internet. Hence why I spent most of my down time cleaning.
My boss was firm. "Go out. Go for a walk! Breathe the air and feel the wind. The sun will make you feel better."
"Blerg," I muttered.
"Blerg nothing." She shoved me out the door. "Off you go."
Resistance was pointless. I made a face and grabbed my hoodie. The sun was out but the autumn wind had a bite.
Walking down the long, twisty driveway of the guest house, I felt myself start to unwind. The pleasant sound my feet made crunching on the white gravel combined with the vista of the red and orange leaves falling from the Japanese Maples. I took a deep breath; it did feel good to be outside.
Reaching the rough bitumen road, I had to decide which way to head; north or south. North was Sammy's house. It seemed like reason enough. I walked on the red dirt bank flanking the road, watching our neighbour's property come into view.
The house, like ours, was built a fair way back from the road, but their enormous shed was set at the top of the drive, its white doors closed. Picking up a decent stride, I had almost passed by when I heard classical music spilling from the side door and a voice calling, "Aw, man! This is impossible!"
"No, it's not! I swear, try again, it'll get better."
North's rocky voice carried out to me, filling me with an inexplicable excitement. Unable to resist, I hopped the low horse fence and padded quietly to the shed door.
Peering inside, I saw North and Sammy dancing in circles, their arms held around phantom partners. "Just remember, its one-two-three, one-two-three. Got it?"
Sammy's face twisted in confusion. "I think so." The teenager attempted to follow along to North's footsteps, but lost his timing, then his footing, staggering towards my concealed position.
Our eyes met. "Hey, Sammy," I said.
"Emily! Don't watch! How much did you see?" The poor kid was anguished.
"Nothing, really." I tried to bite back a smile. "What are you guys doing?"
Sammy sighed. "You might as well come in. North's helping me to learn a dance for the Year 12 formal. I want to wow somebody."
"Girls love a guy with musicality," I said. I couldn't deny that a man who could dance or sing always caught my eye more than the guy with a briefcase and bank balance.
"Except it's hopeless!" Sammy sank into a rusty chair. "I'm not getting it, North."
I looked at my housemate, who leaned against an unidentifiable vehicle covered in a drop cloth. North raised an eyebrow at me, that quiet question of, so?
"What you need is a partner. Come on, get up." I extended my hands to Sammy and pulled him to his feet.
"You?"
"Me."
With a teen's brutal honesty, he said, "Do you even know how to dance?"
"I know a little, but that doesn't really matter. This girl, whatever her name is—"
"Melanie."
"Melanie, she won't know how to dance either. It's up to you to lead. So—" I stepped to his chest and raised my hands in a dance hold. "—lead!"
Sammy looked over at North for approval. He was a slender kid, with an intelligent face and huge brown eyes. In a few years, he'd be lady-candy, with his country boy ways and bashful smile.
North nodded. "Don't leave the lady hanging, mate. Come on, like I showed you."
With the sounds of violins and flutes hanging in the dusty shed air, Sammy began to step us around, counting out loud. Luckily I was wearing battered Vans and not open-toed heels, because my feet took a beating for the first few minutes.
But with North's gentle guidance and my endless stream of encouragement, something clicked and Sammy fell into an easy pattern of movement.
"Hey! This is great!" I said, allowing the younger man to sweep me gracefully between the cars and lawn mowers.
He blushed. "You really think so?"
"I know so. You've got this!"
"North! Check it out!" Sammy was practically buzzing with pride. "Hey, can you teach me how to spin?"
North stepped up. "Easy, bro. You'll need to take her right hand... no, the other right, that's it, then roll her out."
Sammy attempted the move, but spun me the wrong way. His feet tangled with mine and we both hit the deck.
"Ow!" I giggled. "We might need to work on that one."
Sammy's new-found confidence evaporated. "Bugger! I'm so sorry, Emily, are you okay?"
"I'm fine, don't worry about it. Do you want to try again?" I hopped up, brushing away the dirt.
"Yeah, but North, can you demonstrate first? Please, mate?"
North glanced at me. It was hard to tell under all his facial fur, but I swore his cheeks were flushed. "Sure, I guess."
North walked up and drew me to his chest. So close to him, I couldn't help but feel overwhelmed by his size. He'd always been tall and the mammoth growth of his hair extended his height even further, but now, with his muscles returning and bulking out under his clothes, he dwarfed me to a ridiculous extent.
Swallowing heavily, I allowed him to take my hand, my breathing ragged as his bear-like paw wrapped around my waist.
"Ready, Ems?" His voice sounded choked, as if he, too, was struggling with our nearness.
"Let's do it," I murmured.
And we danced. For such a giant, North was light on his feet, whisking me around like a pro. Being led by a man who knew what he was doing on the dance floor was pushing all the right buttons for me. It was like being sheltered and led by someone who would catch you if you fell, and always knew exactly the best direction to go in.
My fingers felt right on North's bicep, tracing the corded muscle through his simple blue shirt. My other hand felt tiny inside his, but our fingers fit perfectly, laced together like vines. If I tilted my head back, I could just see his eyes which were a stormy silver, dark with an emotion I couldn't read but looked like frustration.
Sammy seemed oblivious to our silent reveries. "That's awesome, you guys! North, I can totally see what you meant about the arms, man, I think I've got it now! Can you do the spin?"
"Yup." Without warning, North flung me out carefully. My body instinctively followed his lead, whirling away and extending out. When he tugged me back, I rolled along his arm and into his chest, where I rested for a moment against his broad warmth. Then he flicked his wrist and I twirled away again.
Despite my warring emotions, I cried out in delight. "Again! Again!"
With Sammy whooping it up beside us, North and I twirled and spun our way across the floor, effortlessly melding together and cleaving apart. It didn't matter that we were in a country shed; it could have been a ballroom at Buckingham, or the rec room of Shawshank, and I still would have been transported to another plane by the strength of North's arms and his burnished eyes locked on mine.
"A dip! Do a dip!" Sammy yelled the instruction and I heard his words a second too late.
"North, wait, don't!"
I was already in motion, unable to pull free. North growled, "Don't worry; I won't drop you," and spun me through the circle of his arms, letting me drop towards the floor. His hand firmly at the small of my back, he leaned me low, hands tight on my skin.
His joyful smile was the last thing I saw as my head tipped past the level of my hips and I passed out.
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