Exiles (Aaron Falk #3)(85)

“No?”

“No. I wish there was. Anything to help shake things loose, you know?” Raco glanced back into the car as a high-pitched shriek was followed by a chorus of giggles.

“Yeah.” Falk felt the same low frustration, like there was an odd and unexpected blind spot in his peripheral vision. They both turned at the sound of another shriek, this time followed by crying rather than laughter.

“Anyway. Better keep moving.” Raco’s mouth lifted at the corners. “And, hey, don’t let them work you too hard on that sudden conference call of yours, mate, will you?”

Falk grinned. “I’ll try my best. Enjoy brunch.”

“Yep. I will also try. Catch you later.”

Falk waited until they were gone and the vineyard was quiet again before he put on his running gear. He set off down the driveway, taking the same route as before, moving along the back roads in the morning sun. He heard the faint familiar sound of the footy bouncing against the ground as the park came into view and he slowed to a walk, then stopped. He debated silently for a minute, then this time headed across the grass and playground to the oval itself, leaning against the metal boundary fence to catch his breath.

The sun was in Shane’s eyes, Falk could tell, as the guy lined up while still in motion, pulling back his leg in a sweeping kick. The ball soared through the air, looking good before clipping the post at the last moment and ricocheting away. It bounced a couple of times, landing not far from Falk. Shane shielded his eyes, breathing heavily, his face shining with sweat. He grinned as he saw Falk there.

“Kick it back, mate,” he shouted.

Falk hesitated. Shane waited, then pointed at the ground.

“It’s right there. In front of you.”

“Yeah. I can see it, thanks.” Falk laughed as he climbed the fence to retrieve the ball. He hadn’t held a football in—how long?—years. He turned it over in his hands, feeling the familiar weight and shape. He shot a glance across the oval to Shane, who hadn’t moved but suddenly seemed a long way away.

“Go on.” Shane was shouting again. “I think everyone’s crap, don’t worry about it.”

“Yeah, okay, I’m going,” Falk called back. “If you’d shut up and let me concentrate.”

Shane grinned but closed his mouth. Falk tried to remember how he used to do this, then gave up. He ran a few steps and just kicked, letting instinct take over. They both followed the trajectory through the air.

“Nice one. Not bad.” Shane had to run to get himself under the ball, but at least it made the distance. “Turn your wrists down farther, you’ll get a better angle.” He jogged a couple of paces and demonstrated as he smoothly punted it back.

Falk moved for the ball, watching and reaching up and catching it and then, keeping his wrists well down, curving around to kick it back as Shane ran past. He caught it and they ran together, back and forth up the oval in the morning light, until Shane pointed at the goalposts.

“Go for it.” He was panting.

Falk kicked. The goal was close and completely open, but they both cheered as the ball sailed through.

“You could be decent, you know? You’re just rusty,” Shane said as he fetched the footy, his forehead damp. They walked together to the water fountain, breathing hard. “How long’s it been since you had a kick?”

“God, I don’t know.” Falk tried to remember. “Years, must be. And never on a Monday morning.”

“Yeah, it’s good, hey?” Shane grinned. “For now, anyway. It does get busier around here. You should see it in autumn. The whole town, all the vineyards, it’s crazy. Charlie’s good like that, though. Work hard when we need to, take it a bit easier when we don’t.” He stretched his shoulders and squinted over at the track that led back in the direction of the vineyard. “Was a good day yesterday, I thought. They all surface okay this morning?”

“I think so. They’re at brunch. You stay late?”

“Not really. Walked Naomi part of the way home because it was getting dark. Sounds like she had a good time. Happy to be picked as godmother.”

“She seems like a good choice.” Falk pressed the button on the fountain. “She’s good fun.”

“Naomi? Yeah. She’s great.”

There was definitely something wistful in Shane’s tone. Falk swallowed and wiped his mouth. He pictured Naomi, dressed up and forlorn by the barbecue, and found himself wondering, somewhat unexpectedly, what Rita would do in this situation.

“Divorced, is she?” he settled on.

Shane was examining the footy, turning it over in his hands. “Yeah. About eighteen months now.”

“She’s not seeing anyone?”

“No.” The ball stopped moving momentarily. The word was almost territorial. “Why?”

“Dunno. Small town. She wouldn’t have stayed single too long where I used to live.”

“No. Probably not here, either, most likely.” Shane frowned. “We used to go out, actually. Me and Naomi. For a little while. Years ago. She could do better now obviously, but yeah. We were together then. Back in my footy days.”

“Oh yeah?” Falk hadn’t known that, but found he wasn’t surprised, either. “Didn’t work out?”