by Cassie Hamer
‘I can’t see my hand in front of my face.’
Jamie heard the scratching sound of Ben pulling his phone from his pocket. He switched it on, providing a dim light source, then disappeared under the table and re-emerged with a couple of tea lights that had been overlooked in the clean-up.
‘That’s better,’ he said, switching them on. ‘At least I can see your face, now.’
‘And I can see my glass.’ Jamie reached for her champagne.
‘Refill?’ Ben held up the last bottle, three-quarters empty.
‘Last one.’ She offered her glass for him to fill and sat back in the chair. It had been a great party. One of Angel’s best. She’d even made a lovely speech about Jamie and how indispensable she was to the business and, obviously, to Jared as well. This kind of praise was rare. Unexpected. Maybe it was a subconscious pitch to get Jamie to stay, but whatever the intention, she didn’t mind. It had been a great, great night. And now she was here with her best work friend, enjoying the silence and the French champagne.
But it wasn’t silent for long.
Ben was always up for a chat, and with the tea light flickering across his face he launched into a hilarious recount of the latest Real Housewives episodes. Jamie had missed a couple and Ben was more than happy to fill her in.
After half an hour, her stomach was sore from too much laughter and her champagne glass was finally empty.
Ben yawned.
‘Is that a subtle way of telling me it’s time to go,’ said Jamie.
He covered his mouth. ‘No, no. Of course not. I love being with you.’ He added hastily, ‘Here. At work. Chatting I mean.’
Jamie nodded. ‘I know what you mean.’ She put both hands on the armrest. ‘But I think we both need our beauty sleep.’ She rose, wobbled and reached out for Ben who grabbed her under her arms and pulled her up to his chest.
‘Whoa, sorry,’ said Jamie, blinking. ‘That champagne really goes to your head.’
‘Sure does,’ he murmured, still holding her close. His breath was warm on her cheek and he was close enough for Jamie to see the flecks of green in his deep brown eyes.
‘You’ve got tadpoles in your eyes,’ she giggled.
‘What do you mean?’
She leant in. They were now nose to nose. ‘Little green bits in your eyes. They’re like—’
Suddenly, Ben’s mouth was on hers. So warm and so wet. The shock of it made her legs buckle and she threw her arms around Ben’s neck as he manoeuvred her to the wall, pressing her against it, leaning the weight of his body into hers and kissing her in a way she’d never been kissed before. His fingers massaged her head and he pressed his knee between her thighs. Their tongues met gently and the touch caused Jamie’s insides to cave.
Finally, a thought entered her head.
‘Ben,’ she whispered, and turned her face to the side. ‘This is not right.’
Now he was kissing her neck.
‘I’m your boss.’
‘I know.’ He kept kissing her.
‘And I’m engaged.’ Still no pause in the kissing.
‘And you’re not straight.’
Ben pulled away. ‘What did you say?’
What could she tell him? That it was because of the way he dressed? The fact he worked in PR? That he enjoyed Real Housewives? That he’d been so secretive about his relationships? Not that there was any reason to be. Half the clients at Spin were homosexual. It was just the nature of the industry.
‘Well, I just assumed you were gay. You are, aren’t you?’ Jamie started smoothing her skirt. ‘Actually, no. You don’t have to answer that. It’s extremely unprofessional of me. I’m sorry.’
Ben put his hands on his hips, taking them away from where they’d been caressing Jamie’s body in a totally gorgeous but terribly inappropriate way. ‘You think just because I like crappy reality shows and work in PR that I’m gay? As a matter of record, I’m actually straight.’
Jamie felt her cheeks flush. ‘But didn’t you just break up with someone?’
‘Yes. A woman.’ He looked at the floor. ‘Her name was Karen,’ he said quietly.
Jamie felt her knees starting to give way again. She would tell herself later that it was simply the shock of the news. And the kiss. Ben wasn’t the man she thought he was. They worked so closely, she thought she knew everything about him. But in among the feelings of shock and surprise, there was something else she felt. Something she didn’t want to admit.
Elation.
She reached for the table to steady herself.
‘Whoa there.’ This time, Ben’s arms encircled her waist. ‘I think we better sit you down.’ He helped her back into an office chair.
Jamie lay her head on the table, thoughts flying like butterflies in her head, flitting about too fast for her to catch. ‘I need to go home.’
‘I’ll call you a cab.’
She heard the chair creak as Ben rose out of it, but she didn’t look at him as he walked out the door to make the call. She had kissed a man who wasn’t her fiancé. The shame of it swept over her and dampened the fizz in her stomach. Would she have to tell Jared? How could she? They’d been engaged for little more than twenty-four hours. It wasn’t exactly a promising start to the next phase of their relationship. What would she want if she were Jared? Honesty had to be the bedrock of any solid relationship. But was it always the best policy? If Jared had a drunken pash with a co-worker that meant nothing and led nowhere, would she really want to know?
But that kiss with Ben did mean something, said a little voice inside her head.
Jamie pushed the thought aside. Until five minutes ago, she’d never considered Ben in that way. Sure, he was sexy and funny and had impeccable dress sense. But he was her junior. He was off-limits. That hadn’t changed. His sexuality wasn’t the issue at all. It shouldn’t change how she saw him.
She half-opened an eye to look at him, standing in the gloom just outside the conference room. Always so considerate. So attentive to her needs. He’d unbuttoned his shirt collar and was rubbing his neck, the part where Jamie’s hands had just been. It had felt too good.
She couldn’t be attracted to him. Surely not. And he wasn’t attracted to her. She’d never had that vibe from him. A couple of times she’d caught him staring at her but she’d passed it off as part of his devotion to the job. He was simply waiting for her to speak, discuss the next steps, outline what needed to be done.
The kiss was meaningless. It was the alcohol. Nothing more. They’d both been too tipsy to know better. In the morning they’d laugh about it, be embarrassed for a moment and then move on. It would all be fine.
Jamie sat up as Ben came back into the room.
‘Taxi’s on its way.’ He stood at the table. ‘I’ll walk you down.’
‘Do you want to share it?’ she said, trying to sound casual.
‘No, I’ve got a little more work to do.’
She put her hand on his forearm. ‘Ben, it’s late. Do it tomorrow.’
‘No, it’s something for Angel and she needs it first thing.’
‘Okay then.’
She took the hand that Ben had outstretched to help her out of the chair. Down the hallway, into the lift, and out onto the street, he didn’t let go, but not once did he look at her.
When the cab came, she kissed him chastely on the cheek. ‘Thank you.’ She paused. ‘For everything.’
He said nothing but nodded.
As the cab turned the corner, Jamie could still see him standing on the street with his hands jammed into his pockets, watching after her.
All Jamie wanted was to slip into bed unnoticed by Jared, drift off into a dreamless sleep and wake in the morning to a fresh new day in which she could start planning her wedding.
But as the cabbie turned the corner into their back lane, Jamie saw a glow of light coming from their courtyard. Quickly she paid the driver, hopped out and swung open the back gate.
Involuntarily, she gasped. The courtyard was c
overed with tea lights. Real ones, judging from the scent of melting wax in the air, and in the middle of the candles was a gorgeous white, canopy tent, the kind of thing a Bedouin would be happy to call home. Under the tent was a sleeping Jared, sprawled over wine-coloured cushions and a Persian rug. Surrounding him were platters of luscious fruits, oozing cheeses and jewel-toned bowls of dips. A Middle Eastern feast.
What was going on? First Angel’s party and now this? Had she entered some kind of alternate universe where everywhere she went, she would be greeted by a scene more familiar to a wandering Bedouin than a high-powered PR professional?
She sat down and gently stroked Jared’s forehead. He was so handsome in his sleep. Childlike. The humidity had caused a few stray curls to become plastered to his forehead. Jamie touched them gently, releasing the hair from the skin and allowing the curl to bounce back into shape.
He stirred and opened his eyes. ‘You’re home,’ he said sleepily.
‘I’m home,’ she whispered, lying down in front of him in the spooning position. She pulled his hands around her tightly.
‘You missed the party,’ he murmured into her hair.
Jamie stiffened at the mention of the word party. Over the last two days, she’d attended two of them and both had ended strangely. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘It’s okay.’ He paused. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t propose to you the right way and I wanted to make up for it.’
‘It’s okay,’ she crooned. ‘Just go back to sleep.’
‘I did this for you.’ He kissed her hair. ‘Dubai in Paddington.’
‘It’s beautiful.’ Jamie fought back tears. He’d done this all for her. He loved her. He must. Why else go to all this trouble? And she had betrayed him by kissing Ben. Jared deserved better. Guilt settled like oil in her stomach.
‘I bought you a ring.’
Jared disentangled his arm and Jamie felt him reaching into his pocket. In front of her eyes appeared a small, black box.
‘Open it,’ he said sleepily.
She did. It was gorgeous. The most perfect, square-cut diamond solitaire Jamie had ever seen.
‘I love it; it’s perfect.’ But as Jamie turned to kiss Jared on the cheek, she could see from the stillness of his eyelids that he’d already gone back to sleep, and relief washed over her like a shower of rain at the end of a hot summer day.
She needed to be alone with her thoughts and her guilt and work out what the hell she was going to do next. About Jared, about Ben, about Dubai and about Angel’s offer.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
From the start, Lisa’s gut told her the playground was a bad idea. Why hadn’t she listened to it? Her stomach rarely lied, except when it consumed chocolate and told her brain that it was fine to eat the whole block.
But it was rarely wrong about other matters, especially those relating to her children. And if she’d chosen to ignore her stomach, she could at least have paid some attention to her heart, which sank to the ground when Ava and Jemima announced in the car home from school on Tuesday afternoon that they very much wanted to go to the playground.
‘What about you, Ellie? What would you like to do?’ Lisa had asked via the rear-view mirror.
‘I like the playground,’ said Ellie simply.
‘Yay,’ chorused Ava and Jemima. ‘Playground, playground, playground,’ they chanted.
It had been a good day for Lisa. She’d almost managed to forget yesterday’s brush with the law by busying herself with getting enrolment forms and a school uniform sorted for Ellie, not to mention Suzie-the-seamstress’s bank reconciliations. Now all she wanted was to go home and huddle over her little girls like a mother hen brooding over her chicks. Besides, she was secretly a bit tired of swings and slippery dips and see-saws. People spoke of ‘playground politics’ as if it was something solely for the children to navigate but in Lisa’s view, the kids’ bust-ups were small-fry compared to the adult power-plays. A child had yet to learn a grudge in the way of a parent—a lesson Lisa had learnt when Ava was ten months old and playing happily in a sandpit until an older child started throwing sand in her face. Ava had cried loudly, making her feelings clear in no uncertain terms, but the little monster continued to throw sand at her until Lisa caught his arm. ‘Darling, I’d prefer if you not do that, thank you.’
‘Okay,’ said the boy happily, and Lisa had thought little of it until a shadow came over her, cast by a very angry, very tall and, heretofore very invisible, mother.
‘How dare you touch my child!’ she’d exclaimed, wrapping up the previously happy little boy in such a breath-constricting hug that he started to cry.
‘I’m sorry but he was throwing sand in my daughter’s face.’
‘You’re new at this, aren’t you?’ The mother’s eyes had narrowed until it looked like she would fire bullets from them.
‘I guess so,’ Lisa had said meekly.
‘Next time you lay a finger on my child, I’ll call the police.’ And with that, she’d stomped out of the sandpit and over to another group of mums whereby there was much gesticulating and pointing of fingers and dirty looks towards Lisa.
Sadly, she had since had the misfortune of running into the same woman several times over. Mothers and playgrounds were like emperor penguins and their breeding grounds; they had a habit of returning to the same one time after time.
Therefore, when the girls suggested a trip to the playground, Lisa gently countered the idea by suggesting they go home and watch Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. With popcorn as well!
‘But Mummy, my teacher says it’s not healthy to watch television all the time,’ said Ava.
‘Yes, but you don’t watch TV all the time. You’ve been at school all day and Jem’s been at kindy, remember?’
They weren’t convinced, and as Lisa hated being the constant naysayer—parenting tended to be nine parts ‘no’ to one part ‘yes’—she gave in.
Now they were here, and as Lisa robotically pushed Jemima on the swing all she could think about was Missy. Where was she right now? What was she doing? She looked about the playground. Mothers pushing and pulling their kids, others trying strenuously to ignore them.
Could one of them know Ellie’s mum? The playground wasn’t far from where they lived. Maybe she should talk to some of the mums? See if they knew of her?
‘Higher, Mummy, higher,’ shouted Jemima, swinging her little chubby legs completely out of time with the rhythm of the swing.
‘Okay, darling.’ Lisa summoned the energy to push her child towards the heavens.
Who was she kidding? The other mothers would think her a nutcase if she randomly started up a probing conversation with them. After the stationery store incident, she couldn’t afford to draw attention to herself again. Lisa kept swinging and let her mind turn to what they might have for dinner that night. Steak and veg, or sausage and veg? Maybe spaghetti bolognaise? That would be the easiest. The kids liked that the best and tended to eat it in five minutes flat. Anything with vegetables took at least half an hour.
Her phone bleeped.
You still okay to meet in the morning? Xx
Ugh. That’s right. Jamie had an early pre-work appointment to try on wedding dresses at some exclusive boutique which was usually booked out for weeks.
Yes! Can’t wait. Xx
Definitely the bolognaise then. One less thing to worry about.
‘Mummy, I want to get off.’ Jem swivelled in the seat, nearly toppling off the swing.
‘Whoa, hang on, darling. Two hands, remember.’ Lisa scooped her off and set her down gently. ‘Now, where’s your sister? And Ellie?’
Jemima screwed up her face. ‘Don’t know.’
‘Okay, well let’s go find them.’ Lisa took Jemima’s sticky hand in hers and headed towards the sandpit, which tended to be Ava’s favourite place at the playground.
No sign of the girls.
She dismissed the little flutter of fear that always accompanied the first sensation that her daughter may ha
ve disappeared.
Ava always turned up. Always.
Lisa sauntered over to the slippery dip and checked underneath. No Ava there, just a cheeky little boy who poked his tongue out at her. She checked the trees that Ava had been known to climb. Not there either. Her pulse quickened. The monkey bars! Of course. She loved the monkey bars.
Nope. Not there either.
Now, Lisa was running, with a vice-like grip on Jemima’s hand.
‘Owwww, you’re hurting me.’ Jemima yanked back on Lisa’s arm.
‘Darling, please.’ Lisa knelt down and brushed the hair from her daughter’s eyes. ‘We really need to find Ellie and your sister. Where did you last see them?’
Jemima screwed up her face and put a finger to her chin. ‘In the car.’
Lisa sighed. ‘C’mon.’ She scooped Jemima up into her arms and held her daughter’s head close to her shoulder to stop it from bouncing as she ran from parent to parent, asking if they’d seen two little girls—one with ash-blonde hair, wearing a school uniform and the other with dark hair, navy dress. Mostly they shook their heads with a regretful but slightly smug smile as if to say You loving-but-hopeless mother.
‘They’ll turn up,’ offered one. ‘They always do.’
But what was that saying—that to lose one child could be considered a misfortune, but to lose two, including one that wasn’t her own, would be considered careless in the extreme.
Now sweating with panic, she felt Jemima’s head lift off her shoulder. ‘There they are!’ Her daughter’s body twisted in the direction of the gate and Lisa swivelled. Ava! Ellie! Hallelujah! But why were they walking in the other direction, and holding hands with a third person? Who was it? The trees between them obscured Lisa’s view.
‘Ava! Ellie!’ Lisa started running awkwardly, juggling Jemima on her hip with one hand, and waving her free arm wildly. ‘Come here.’
But Ava was too deep in conversation with the companion to hear anything, so Lisa shouted again and Ava turned slowly, smiling at first and then frowning upon the realisation that her mother appeared very cross indeed.
Now, Lisa was close enough to see the other person, the one who was holding Ava and Ellie’s hand.