An Endless Summer(69)

I wasn’t exactly sure why I had to be so silent – there was a thunderous noise blasting out the front of the hotel that had my attention faltering from Chris for a brief moment.

What the hell is that?

I shrugged off the thought, and waved my hand in front of Chris on the phone.

“Yeah, no worries, mate, that would great … Okay, see you soon.” Chris ended the call. “What now?” he asked, looking at his phone, annoyed.

My mouth gaped – what was that supposed to mean? I shook it off.

“Chris, where did the paint come from?”

Without meeting my stare, Chris answered in a monotone, pre-rehearsed, robotic voice. “It fell off the back of a truck.”

Oh, okay. So this was the way it was going to be – I sleep in once and everyone had already pre-plotted the day without me. Even though I knew exactly where the paint had come from, I wanted – I needed – someone to confirm it for me. It wouldn’t have been cheap and there was so much of it.

I really didn’t like the thought of any more of Sean’s charity, but I also didn’t like the opposite prospect – that I’d receive some huge bill in the mail for something I hadn’t planned on fixing in the first place. After last night’s episode, I wouldn’t be surprised if he wanted to rip the beams out from the very balcony he’d fixed.

“Fine, be like that,” I said to Chris.

I would continue my investigation elsewhere. I walked to the front door to head out towards the commotion out front. I paused before pushing my way out.

I turned back to Chris who was just pocketing his phone. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

Chris shrugged. “You locked up for me two nights running. Seemed only fair.”

“Yeah, but today’s the working bee. I thought that—”

“We have everything under control. Some of Uncle Eric’s mates are coming around to get stuck into the beer garden and there’s more people coming to lend a hand by lunch, but don’t worry, they have all been sworn to secrecy.”

“Good!” I nodded. “Wait, shit! I haven’t organised lunch!” I panicked.

“Lunch is at one. Melba and the McGees are prepping in the kitchen – they’ve picked up the meat and the salads are done. Don’t stress, it’s fine.”

“Oh.”

“See what happens when you sleep in?” Chris said with a smirk.

I pushed open the front doors and stepped outside to be greeted by a misty spray in the face and the deafening hum of Toby’s pressure washer. Wearing nothing but shorts and a red bandanna tied around just below his eye line, he worked on blasting the dust, dirt and cobwebs from the brickwork and beams. Stan was on standby with his broom, sweeping the excess water from the verandah and scrubbing away any stubborn, lingering cobwebs.

Stan spotted me and smiled, yelling above the pressure washer. “Looks all right, doesn’t it?”

I looked from the side Toby had already done to where he was going and the difference was remarkable. With all the dust collected over the years removed it was as if the Onslow had received a new paint job. Under the layer of dust the paintwork had been protected from the elements (at least the dust was good for something). It was an amazing transformation.

I tore my eyes from their handiwork.

“Hey, Stan, the paint inside—”

“IT FELL OFF THE BACK OF A TRUCK.”

I flinched and then my shoulders slumped. “Oh, Stan, you too?”

He grimaced. “Sorry.”

“You’re all right, I think I know.”

Toby turned the pressure washer off and, mercifully, silence fell. He pulled down his bandanna and wiped the excess water from his brow. He walked over towards us, playfully spraying the excess water still left in his gun at Stan’s feet, making him jump.

“Don’t! That shit will take your skin off.”

“Relax, it’s only a bit of water, isn’t that right, Amy?”

Before I could agree or disagree, Toby grabbed me, embracing me in a huge, soppy, saturated bear hug. “Toby, don’t!” I pushed him away.

I now sported a wet patch all down my side. “Now look what you’ve done.” I pulled my sopping top and skirt away from my skin.

“Relax, Amy, it’s only a bit of water,” Stan said.

It seemed all the Onslow Boys were smart-arses.

My mouth twisted as I tried my best not to look at their boyish grins.

I shook my head. “Boys!”





Chapter Thirty-Three



Sean wasn’t anywhere to be seen and so far my investigative skills had failed me miserably.

Apparently, my sleeping in had given him a chance to word them up not to tell.

As if I wouldn’t work it out, anyway. It must have meant that he dropped the paint off this morning and didn’t stay. I didn’t know how I felt about that – either he legitimately had something else to do or he was avoiding me. I didn’t want to ask the boys any questions because, if anything, I told myself I was giving way too much thought to Sean Murphy’s whereabouts.