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He’d lain the scarf gently around her neck and she’d been sure, absolutely certain, that he was finally, at long last, going to kiss her. And then Rosie’s delicate shout of support had reached her ears, and, plainly, Jack’s too, as he’d flinched, swallowed deeply and given her one of his apologetic half-smiles, before removing his hands and turning away from her to focus on the game beginning on the pitch. Phryne could feel George Sanderson’s disapproval burning into her scalp from his seat higher up in the stand.
She could also feel the heat radiating from Jack as the match progressed. He was almost in a world of his own, she thought, as he leaned forward when Abbotsford’s forwards put together a good run on West’s goals, whilst he seemed to wince when West threatened in the opposite direction. At some point early in the third quarter he grabbed her hand when a particularly spectacular run led to Abbotsford scoring a Goal and he hadn’t let go since. The final whistle sounded. The Abbotsford fans went wild, celebrating their win.
Jack was trying not to get too excited, but it was a tough job sometimes, following this team, and he allowed himself a smile. As the celebrations subsided, the spectators in the stand started drifting towards the stairs to join the larger, more exuberant crowds lining the pitch. He offered Phryne his arm, which she took as they passed Rosie and Sidney, still sitting in their seats. Jack glanced behind him: George was practically seething. Whether it was for the loss of the match, the loss of his daughter’s fleeting return to supporting West, or the mere presence of Phryne, he couldn’t be sure, He decided to avoid George’s gaze, to try to dodge at least some awkwardness.
“How did you get here?” Jack asked Phryne, as they drifted towards the main road which ran along the side of the oval.
“I came on the tram.”
Jack tried not to laugh. “Really? The tram?”
“Well I didn’t want to bring the Hispano. This game threatened to get ugly…” her voice trailed off.
Jack swallowed. She was still holding his arm: still wearing his scarf. He lived relatively close, certainly within what he considered to be a reasonable, but not excessive walking distance. He’d seen the way she’d looked at him today, noticed the way her pupils darkened when he’d draped his scarf around her neck and patted it down. Maybe, if she came to his house, he could show her his back garden, perhaps kiss her under the eucalyptus tree. “The tram’s will be packed for ages”. He swallowed again. “Do you trust me, Phryne?”
His arm had moved, his hand now cradling hers again. He was regarding her with an intensity which warmed her soul. “Of course, Jack”.
Jack nodded at her reply, and guided Phryne across the busy road, teaming with departing fans, crowding towards the tram stops or the pub. They continued down a wide but quiet road, lined with small, neat houses.
“Oh, are we going to your house, Jack?” asked Phryne.
Jack tried not to roll his eyes: did she know his address? He’d never told her exactly where he lived. Perhaps she’d gathered clues from their conversations in the last few months? He merely lifted his eyebrows – an impression of a shrug – in neither agreement, or denial, he hoped. They reached a junction and stopped for an approaching van to pass in front of them. Phryne looked around at the rows of tidy gardens, the sounds of children playing in alleyways drifting into the streets, the children heard but not seen.
As they crossed the road, the heavens opened - great fat drops of rain beginning to fall, teetering on the brink between a now departing crisp autumn day and a wintery bleakness. It shouldn’t have surprised either of them: Melbourne was known for its highly changeable weather. Jack grimaced all the same. They continued along the footpath, their pace quickening as the fat drops thinned, gathering force as they did, turning into a downpour that quickly threatened to flood the streets.
Jack grabbed Phryne’s hand as they both broke into a run. “How far is it?” Phryne asked, having to shout to make herself heard above the noise of the now torrential rain.
“Really not far, I promise” Jack replied.
They continued running, approaching another junction. They both leapt back from the kerb as a large lorry drove past them, throwing up a huge puddle of water towards them. Phryne almost barrelled into the border hedge of the corner house, but Jack grabbed her, pulling her towards him. He discovered that his hand had found its way to Phryne’s waist, and his other arm had wrapped its way around her back. Phryne looked at him and gasped lightly.
“Sorry. I was just trying to steady you.” He made no attempt to loosen his grip, even as he spoke the apology. If it wasn’t raining, he’d kiss her now, he thought.
Phryne tried to conjure a witty retort, and found nothing as she realised instead the intensity with which Jack was looking at her.
The rain continued to pour. In the distance, thunder rumbled.
“Thank you, Jack.” Phryne eventually re-acquired the power of speech. A drop of rain water dripped from the brim of her hat. One followed from Jack’s.
“I’m sorry Phryne. We really are almost there, it’s just over there.” Jack dipped his head, indicating a house set amongst a row of bungalows in the Federation style. He unwrapped himself from around Phryne, taking a step towards the kerb once more. A car advanced along the road, gaining speed.
“Jack!” Phryne cried, pulling him back towards her.
He moved with more momentum than he’d expected, and found himself stumbling into Phryne, the increasingly wet footpath failing to offer him any purchase.
“Jack…” Phryne whispered, holding him tightly.
‘Sod the rain’ thought Jack, as he noticed Phryne’s pupils dilate. It took only the tiniest of movements to press his lips to hers. Slowly he closed and then opened his eyes, as he waited to judge Phryne’s reaction. He felt her lips form themselves into a smile, and decided to kiss her again. This time the kiss lasted longer. Another passing car beeped its horn, causing Jack to pull back.
Phryne curled her lip. “As delightful as this is, Jack, I fear your neighbours are already beginning to be scandalised, and whilst I would very much like to continue, even I don’t find pneumonia to be an attractive feature. Perhaps we should go and wait out the storm in your house.”
Jack nodded, took Phryne’s hand, and ran across the junction, up to his front gate, along the short path that crossed his garden, and up onto the veranda that ran across the front of the house.
Jack reached for his keys. “I’m not sure bringing an unknown woman into my house will do anything other than increase the neighbourhood gossip about me, to be honest, Phryne.” He smiled at her, as he jiggled the front door lock. “Sticks in damp weather,” he offered.
“Do you care? About being the source of gossip?” Phryne asked, in a teasing tone.
Jack shrugged slightly, the door swinging open behind him. “I don’t think so. And actually, apart from one or two notable moments of local notoriety, I believe I’m usually referred to as ‘that quiet copper with the garden’. So maybe, I’m due a bit of scandal?” He smirked at Phryne, pulling her to him, making use of the protection from the ongoing storm that his veranda roof offered. He kissed her, deeply this time, and found her damp coat and his now sodden scarf pressing against his overcoat, itself rapidly absorbing water. “And if I was in the mood for scandal, I’d say something salacious, such as, ‘you should come in, we should get you out of those damp clothes’.” Jack looked into her eyes: if she laughed it off, he thought he’d cope; if she responded as if he meant it, he wasn’t sure what he’d do once they actually were inside.
“Jack Robinson! Whatever will I do with you?” Phryne smirked, as she kissed him once more, pushing him backwards through the door as she did. Having crossed his threshold, she kicked the door shut behind her.
Across the road, a curtain twitched.