Men look at her differently now. She doesn’t think it fair, having only just recovered from a paralysing period of self-doubt caused by the infidelities of her ex-husband.
Now – if only they took the time to look properly – men would see walking along the shores of the lake an attractive woman with ash-blonde hair, stylishly cut, and a shapely body only partly concealed by a gauzy lace-lined top. She knows the reason they see differently, however. It is the six year old boy by her side – staying close, sometimes reaching up for a reassuring hand.
The male gaze skates quickly over mothers.
Linda’s blue eyes narrow and her mouth sets itself in a firm line. Stop complaining. You are a world away from that toxic mess that you once called a marriage. You’re the proud owner of a lovely little house with its own sunny backyard. You are making a new life for yourself up here on the Central Coast, far removed from the noisy congestion of the inner city. Here the people are warm and friendly. You have come to the right place.
There is a little playground under the trees.
“Mum, can I go on the swings?” asks Tristan.
She watches fondly as her son clambers onto the rubber seat. The stressful nature of the marriage breakup had been shattering to a child with an already introverted nature. It would be nice to see him gain his confidence again, to see him open up and play with other children. She stands in the cool shade as the swing rises higher and higher in the air, a pendulum silhouetted against the wide bed of water glinting like sparkling diamonds in the afternoon sun.
They continue along the walkway in shared contentment. Ducks paddle across the shallows. Black swans curl and uncurl their long necks, dipping their red beaks in the hidden sea grasses below. A pelican skims low, rising only momentarily to clear the old timber jetty.
Their idyllic stroll comes to a sudden stop in front of a large warning notice, prominently tacked onto a pole alongside the walkway. Linda frowns.
“What is it, Mum?” asks Tristan.
“It says we need to be careful of magpie attacks,” she replies.
Whilst she is standing there hesitating, a man with black curly hair passes by. A little girl is with him, dressed in a striped button-down dress and leading a large friendly-looking dog.
She watches as they walk through the danger zone without incident, the man listening with tolerant attention as the young girl chats away merrily.
“Come on Mum,” says Tristan with an impatient tug on her hand.
His mother follows reluctantly. She feels a rush of air near her head. Before she can react, the claws brush through her hair and she hears the sharp sound of a beak snapping. She cries out in shock and puts up her arms to defend herself.
She crouches down, shielding Tristan and screaming up at her feathered foe. Then just as quickly as it started, it is all over. The same man has turned back and is helping them across to safety where the girl is waiting, trying valiantly to restrain an excited dog.
Seated on a wooden bench near the lake, Linda starts laughing through her ebbing sobs as she watches the dog lick Tristan’s teary face with evident sympathy.
“I’m sorry,” says the man beside her, trying with minimal success to push the animal away.
She sees a friendly yet reserved face below the curly hair. His dark eyes show concern.
“That’s fine,” she says. She sighs deeply. “Thanks so much for rescuing us.”
“No problem,” he says slowly. “How about an ice cream for everyone?”
He gestures towards the ice cream truck parked nearby. She notices his full lips and the long hands of an artist or musician – or an architect perhaps?
“That would be lovely.”
He returns with five chocolate-topped cones, one for each of them and one for the dog.
“I know dogs shouldn’t eat ice-cream,” he says apologetically, “but he is a snow dog after all – and it is only an occasional treat.”
Tristan and the girl in the orange striped dress take to their ice-creams eagerly, her son giggling with delight as the dog seizes his own cone and gulps it down in two quick swallows. Tristan is looking the happiest she has seen him for months.
Linda twirls the topping off with her tongue, allowing the chocolate to melt and fill her mouth. She lets the delicious taste linger a while and turns to her rescuer.
“You seemed to get through fine, why did it pick on me?”
“Well, it’s nesting season and the male magpie gets very protective when there are chicks in the nest.”
“Yes, but that doesn’t explain why it was me that was attacked and not you,” she says.
He pauses. “Look, why don’t you bring along some mince tomorrow and meet me at the sign. Then we can help you get into its good books.”
She sits silent, unsure. He clears his throat.
“Well, anyhow, I’m Jason, this is my daughter Nadia and this is our ice-cream loving Alaskan Malamute.”
She takes the proffered hand. “I’m Linda, and this is my son Tristan. All right then, tomorrow will be fine.”
“Around 4pm?”
“Look forward to it,” she says awkwardly.
Linda sleeps restlessly that night. After getting Tristan to school the next morning, she spends ages toying with her Mac on what should have been a quick and easy addition to a product catalogue.
After fetching Tristan from school, she leaves him in the kitchen with his customary peanut butter sandwich and retreats to her room. You would think a graphics designer would know how to dress, she thinks to herself. After trying and rejecting a dozen different combinations, she is finally satisfied. She carefully inserts a pair of her favourite blue earrings and sprays a light touch of scent on her neck.
Oh God, the mince! She rushes back to the kitchen. Why is the dratted fork shaking so much? Finally she has the mince in its plastic container, with a clean plastic fork strapped under the elastic band. Tristan is looking at her, puzzled.
By the time they leave the house together, she knows they’ll be late. Jason is waiting at the magpie sign, wearing a blue pair of jeans and a freshly ironed white shirt. They exchange greetings. She smells aftershave and her heart beats faster. Nadia is looking pretty, with her hair freshly brushed, a white blouse, rainbow-coloured floral leggings and a pair of shiny black shoes.
“Nadia can go with you and I’ll stay here with the dog so he doesn’t go for the bird,” says Jason.
Linda looks at her son.
“Do you want to come along, Tristan, or stay here?”
“I’ll stay here with Jason,” says Tristan very definitely.
The closer they get to the tree, the more her heart pounds. When they reach the shade, the young child shows her how to lay a piece of mince flat on her hand. They crouch down together. She flinches involuntarily as she catches the swoosh out the corner of her eye. The magpie lands on the grass just out of reach, cocking its head and regarding Linda with a chestnut red eye, before stalking across deliberately and taking the mince with such delicacy that she doesn’t even feel it leave her trembling hand. A few pieces of mince later, the bird flies back up into the tree to wipe its beak. The two return triumphant.
Later, Jason and Linda walk up onto the timber bridge that spans the saltwater creek. They watch the kids playing on the shoreline below whilst the sun sets over the golden water. Jason confides in her how tough it has been during the last two years, his wife having been struck and killed whilst out cycling one morning.
She feels a sudden stab of joy as his hand covers hers. They hug and his lips lightly brush her cheek.
Yes, she decides, nestling her head against his welcoming body, she has come to the right place.