After the Party

by Cassie Hamer

  Dear Jamie,

  This is the hardest letter I’ve ever had to write, but I know it’s the right thing and I think, deep down, you know it is too.

  I can’t let you marry me.

  When I asked you, I did mean it. We’re a good match, you and I, and we’d been together so long that it seemed the logical next step. I was happy to be marrying you. Or, I thought I was.

  But then Ellie came into our lives and for me it dredged up all these old memories of Melissa and how it truly feels to be passionately in love with someone.

  I don’t think we’ve been that way for a while, if ever. When we met, I think I was still in love with her. Maybe I still am. Anyway, you deserve better. And I’m pretty sure you’re going to find it. I’m sorry for mucking things up.

  Love, Jared

  For a moment Jamie felt shock, but it was brief compared with the immense feeling of relief that sheeted over her. For the first time in weeks, she felt free. Unburdened. Exhilarated.

  ‘Are you okay?’ asked Ben.

  ‘I am,’ said Jamie, calmly folding the note. ‘But you said you had two things to tell me. I’ve got the first.’ She held up the letter. ‘Now what’s the second?’

  Ben frowned. ‘You can’t marry Jared.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I love you,’ said Ben without hesitation, taking a step towards Jamie. ‘I love you so much that it’s killing me. And I don’t know what’s in that letter he sent you but you deserve better. So much better. You deserve someone who appreciates you, someone who feels like they’ve won the lottery when they’re with you. Someone who loves your mind and your sense of humour and the way you never give up on anything or anyone.’

  Jamie closed the gap so they were nearly nose to nose. ‘Funnily enough, Jared agrees with you.’

  ‘But what about you?’ Ben breathed.

  ‘I think,’ she said slowly, ‘that I need to be with someone who is respectful, intelligent and thoughtful. A man who understands, deeply, and shares my passion for terrible reality television.’ She took a breath. ‘Ben Chambers, I think I am madly in love with you, and you are exactly the man I deserve.’

  Cupping her face in his hands, Ben drew her in for the kiss Jamie had been waiting her whole life to have. Urgent yet sensual. Soft yet passionate. A kiss born of true love and desire. Swinging her around, Ben leant Jamie against the wall and ran his hands lightly over her breasts. From her throat escaped a lusty moan and she circled her arms around Ben’s waist until she could feel he wanted her as much as she wanted him. As his hand reached for the top button of her shirt, she squeezed his shoulder.

  ‘Ben,’ she whispered. ‘We’re in a hairdressing salon.’ She giggled quietly as realisation broke across his face and he looked around as if emerging from a dreamy sleep.

  ‘Oh shit, so we are.’ He took her hand. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

  But as they went to leave, the sound of an angry, guttural voice coming from the main part of the salon stopped them in their tracks.

  Ben put his finger to his mouth in a shushing motion.

  ‘You give me what I want and no one will get hurt.’ It was a man, and he sounded threatening.

  While Kristy’s reply was inaudible, Jamie could tell from the tremor in her voice that she was terrified.

  Her skin crawled. A hold-up. The salon was being robbed.

  Ben beckoned her back from the doorway. ‘You stay here,’ he whispered. ‘I’m going to take a look.’

  Jamie shook her head furiously. ‘No.’ But before she could say anything else, Ben had taken a couple of steps towards the doorway, then returned to her side, his face white.

  ‘He’s got a gun.’

  ‘Call the police,’ she hissed.

  ‘I don’t have my phone.’ Ben’s face contorted. ‘Do you?’

  Missy felt the room was spinning and she reached for the wall to hold her up.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Her mouth was full of cotton.

  ‘You really thought I would be so stupid as to get caught again?’ Kyle gave a mocking laugh. ‘Turns out you can learn new tricks in jail, like how to make friends, friends in high places. Friends who are only too happy to let you know when your ex has been in town, visiting the pigs.’

  ‘You knew I was there in Coffs?’ Missy gasped.

  Kyle sneered. ‘Course I did. And I have to say I’m a little hurt you didn’t come and say hello. And then you left, without saying goodbye to anyone, ’cept your good mate, O’Dea. But that’s what you don’t get, Miss. My buddies are more powerful than yours. That dickhead detective lives in la-la land.’

  So that’s why he hadn’t been arrested. There was still a mole in the Coffs cops and O’Dea had no idea. No wonder Kyle was always one step ahead.

  ‘How … how did you find me?’ Missy staggered backwards and gripped the reception desk for support.

  ‘Turns out your Russian landlord and I have a few mates in common.’ Kyle grinned like a shark. ‘He was worried about you. Put out a few feelers. Such a pretty little hairdresser. So young to be a mum on her own.’

  Mr Ivanov? The harmless old Russian was actually a criminal? That’s why he’d been so secretive.

  ‘What do you want?’ Missy exhaled.

  ‘What do you think I want?’ Kyle’s mouth twisted.

  ‘You can’t have her.’

  ‘You’re going to pay for what you did.’

  ‘I’ll never let you find her.’

  Kyle held out the gun, allowing the salon lights to glint off the handle. ‘Right now, I don’t think you have a choice.’ He sneered. ‘Now where is she?’

  ‘She’s somewhere safe. Somewhere you’ll never find her.’

  ‘Oh, I think we both know that’s not true.’ He was getting closer and with each threatening step, Missy felt weaker and weaker. Kyle had bolted the front door. No chance of escape through there. But where was Jamie? Where was the guy who’d come to see her? Maybe they had their phones on them and were calling the police? Missy looked around desperately. Jamie’s handbag was still under her chair, but maybe the guy had his mobile in his pocket? She squeezed her hands into a fist. All she had to do was hold on. Just for a few more minutes. As long as she could keep Kyle talking, the police would surely get there in time.

  ‘C’mon, Missy. We both know you’re going to tell me, sooner or later.’

  He was now so close she could smell him, a stomach-churning stench of stale cigarettes and sickly sweet aftershave. The barrel of the gun hovered near her chin and Missy stretched her neck away.

  The tap at the door made them both jump and as Kyle whipped around, Missy took the chance to scoot over to the other side of the salon.

  ‘Who’s that?’ he growled.

  Oh shit. It’s Lisa.

  ‘No one,’ Missy said quickly. ‘Just a client. Ignore it, and she’ll go away. I promise.’

  But quick as lightning, Kyle checked through the blinds. ‘Well, lookie here.’ He gave an oily grin. ‘If it isn’t Daddy’s little girl.’

  Lisa tapped on the door and tried the handle again. ‘Well, that’s strange,’ she said to the gaggle of little girls holding her hand. ‘Jamie was supposed to be here at six, so I’m sure they’re in there.’ She tried to peer between the closed blinds. ‘Looks like the lights are on, so let’s just give her a minute.’

  ‘Will Aunty Jamie have her wedding dress on?’ Ava jumped excitedly from one foot to the other.

  ‘No, darling. She’ll get dressed back at her own place, after her hair’s done.’

  ‘Are you going to have your hair in a bun, like a princess?’ asked Jemima.

  ‘Something like that,’ said Lisa distractedly, searching for signs of life within the salon.

  ‘You’re already as pretty as a princess,’ said Ellie seriously, squeezing Lisa’s hand.

  ‘Thank you, darling.’ Lisa looked down at the solemn little face in front of her. She hadn’t planned on bringing the three girls to the salon, but they�
�d woken so early, so full of excitement for the big day that Lisa felt it only fair to include them. She knew Jamie would love to have them around her, with all their energy and vibrancy. It would make the salon into a bit of a party. Lisa had explained to them that the hairdresser wouldn’t have time to do their hair, and the girls didn’t care. They’d be happy to watch Mummy and Aunty Jamie have theirs done. It was all terribly, terribly thrilling!

  ‘Where are they?’ muttered Lisa, reaching for her phone. But as she rummaged through her bag, the door magically swung open and the girls piled into the salon.

  ‘Get in here quick.’

  Lisa swivelled in the direction of the snarling voice and felt her stomach lurch as a swarthy man wielding a gun sprang towards the girls and bolted the door behind them. For a split second, she froze, before her mothering instinct kicked into gear.

  ‘Ava. Jemima. Ellie. Come here,’ Lisa ordered. Bewildered by their mother’s stern tone and the sight of a strange man with a gun, the girls cowered into Lisa’s side.

  ‘I don’t know who you are, or what you’re doing here, but you should just take what you want and leave.’ Lisa’s voice was cold.

  ‘Oh, I will, lady. I will.’ Kyle lowered the gun and shoved it into the back of his jeans. ‘Ellie,’ he said in a crooning voice and knelt down. ‘Baby girl, do you remember me?’

  A pain went through Lisa’s chest as Ellie clutched her leg more tightly. ‘Lisa, I’m scared,’ said the little girl.

  ‘Who are you?’ Lisa demanded.

  ‘Ellie,’ said a soft voice behind them. Kristy. As Lisa turned, Ellie released her leg and flung herself into the arms of the pale-faced hairdresser.

  ‘Mummy,’ she squealed. ‘You’re back.’

  ‘Yes, honey,’ Kristy murmured. ‘I’m back.’

  ‘Wait.’ Lisa tried to sort through her confusion. ‘Kristy? You’re … you’re Ellie’s mother.’

  Kristy nodded.

  ‘But your name’s Kristy, not Missy.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Lisa. I’m Missy. It was for Ellie, all to keep her safe,’ said Kristy desperately.

  ‘And who is this man?’

  ‘I’m Ellie’s dad,’ said Kyle, taking another step closer.

  ‘No, you’re not,’ said Ellie in a determined voice. ‘My daddy’s dead.’

  ‘Well, actually, sweetie—’ started Missy.

  ‘Is that what you told her?’ Kyle’s voice was cold and angry. ‘That I was dead?’

  ‘What should I have told her?’ retorted Kristy. ‘That you were a low-life criminal who traded in people’s misery for a living—’

  ‘You little bitch—’

  As Kyle lunged, Lisa threw her handbag in his direction and flung herself over Ava, Jemima, Ellie and Missy which sent them all tumbling to the ground. Keeping her head buried and her eyes tightly closed, Lisa heard scuffling and male grunts for a few seconds until there was a loud crack, a high-pitched squeal and then silence.

  ‘Ben, get the gun,’ said a calm and authoritative voice.

  Lisa knew that voice! It was a voice she loved. She opened one eye to find Jamie standing over an unconscious Kyle with a hairdryer in her hand. As she opened a second eye, she spotted Ben, scurrying for the gun which lay just out of Kyle’s reach.

  ‘Lise! Girls! Are you okay?’ Jamie rushed over as Lisa picked herself and the girls off the floor.

  ‘Yes, yes. We’re fine. What about you? What did you do?’

  ‘Oh, I just whacked that dickhead over the head with this,’ said Jamie airily, wielding the hairdryer. ‘I’m pretty handy with these things, you know.’

  ‘You could have been killed!’ cried Lisa.

  ‘So could you! And the girls!’

  In the background, Ben was dialling triple zero. ‘Hello, yes, this is an emergency. There’s been an armed hold-up at the hair salon on …’

  Suddenly, Lisa felt exhausted. She had no idea what had just happened, except that Ellie’s mother was Jamie’s hairdresser and her father appeared to be some sort of criminal who was now unconscious on the floor. And for some unknown reason, Ben had been there to help save the day.

  ‘What just happened, Mummy?’ Ava’s eyes were as big as saucers.

  ‘I’m not really sure, darling, but all that matters is that we’re okay.’

  ‘Is that Ellie’s mummy?’ Ava pointed. Behind them, Kristy cradled and rocked Ellie like a baby and the little girl had a contented smile on her face, as if she had finally found peace.

  Without a shadow of a doubt, Lisa knew the answer in her heart.

  ‘Yes, darling. That’s Ellie’s mother.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Eleven Months Later

  Lisa yawned and contemplated rolling over. But the very idea of it made her feel tired. With her stomach the size of a beach ball, rolling would be a three-step process—grab hold of stomach, roll onto back (groaning), then shift bottom so as to re-gather momentum for the final push onto the other side. Oh, it was all too hard. Instead, Lisa lay where she was and moved the only part of her body that didn’t feel heavy—her eyelids. She opened them and looked at the clock.

  Oh hell! 9.59 am. Surely not. She blinked again and patted for the spot where Scott’s thigh usually lay.

  Empty!

  He was up and hadn’t thought to wake her?

  Everyone would be arriving in precisely—she checked the clock again—precisely one minute! Catastrophe.

  Lisa threw off the doona and summoned her heavy body to leap out of bed. She needed perky-dolphin pace. Instead, her body gave her slow-moving-slug and literally groaned, involuntarily, in protest. Seriously, she was not conscious of emitting noise but now, every time she bent to pick up a toy or put on shoes, her body transmitted a sound from deep in her throat. A bit like the sigh a leather couch made when someone sat on it, only deeper, and more pained.

  She was a suffering sofa.

  Rummaging through her wardrobe, Lisa pulled out the only items that a) were clean and b) still agreed to accommodate her burgeoning body. That meant leggings with a hole in the knee and an extra-large T-shirt from a corporate team-building day eight years ago. She checked her reflection. There is no ‘I’ in team, the mirror shouted back at her.

  But there’s an ‘I’ in failure, Lisa muttered to herself.

  It was four years since she was pregnant with Jemima and her brain had conveniently wiped all memory of the hard bits. All that remained in there was a highlights package, like the best bits of a footy game that showed the home side scoring glorious tries. She remembered the delight of feeling the baby kicking, the cute way it got hiccups from amniotic fluid and the mind-blowing amazingness of seeing her little being on the ultrasound screen, like a little ghost-baby in outer-space. But for every cute baby kick and ultrasound, there was a dropped ball or a fumble that the highlights reel had conveniently left out. Pregnancy was combat sport. And right now, Lisa was losing.

  How had she managed to forget the difficulty of the final month? She was nearly ten months pregnant. Lisa had done the maths. Forty weeks did not equal nine months—that was simply another myth designed to trick women into this unfortunate state of being—it was nine-and-a-half. And if the baby was late, it was nearly ten months, which is what she was now!

  Why had she ever agreed to host a party in her overabundant state?

  Lisa knew exactly why.

  It was Ava. She’d been so desperate for a sixth birthday party and after the shemozzle of her fifth, Lisa didn’t have the heart to refuse her. Besides, it would be a small affair this time. Just family and one or two of her closest little friends. Still, even the smallest of parties required a modicum of effort. Guests, however few in number, needed to be fed, watered and entertained.

  At the top of the stairs, Lisa paused again for one final, side-on check in the mirror. Certainly the team-building T-shirt was less than flattering (elephant-trapped-in-a-tent was the image that came to mind) but gosh her belly was ridiculously large. Lisa raised the
T-shirt and ran her fingers over the creamy white skin. So tightly was it stretched across the expanse of baby, it made the blue veins stand out like rivers on a map. She exhaled. It was miraculous, really, to think that just centimetres beneath her fingertips was a living, breathing, baby boy, quite capable of living life on ‘the outside’ but content for the moment to stay in his tummy home.

  The baby was one week overdue. ‘Cervix is tight as a clam,’ the obstetrician had announced far too jovially at her last check-up. This kid wasn’t going anywhere in a hurry.

  Lisa caressed her belly one final time before letting the dreadful blue T-shirt drop like a curtain over her wondrous miracle.

  Clutching the handrail, Lisa made her way slowly down the stairs, running through a checklist in her mind of all that needed to be completed. Cake? Iced and in the fridge, ready to go. Food? All prepared, just needs to be put on platters. Decorations? Put up last night. Toilet? Clean.

  Actually, she was in pretty good shape. If last year had taught her anything, it was that—

  ‘SURPRISE!’

  Lisa clutched the railing with one hand and her stomach with the other as the baby reacted to the noise with a particularly violent karate kick.

  ‘Oh my goodness! You’re all here.’ Lisa sucked in a breath. ‘Already.’

  ‘Course we are.’ Jamie let go of Ben’s hand and ascended several steps to take Lisa’s hand. ‘Oh lord, take a look at you, woman!’ Jamie leant back as if struggling to fit Lisa’s girth within her field of vision. ‘You’re like a beached whale that took a wrong turn and ended up at an Anthony Robbins conference. That T-shirt is dreadful!’

  ‘Thanks, Jamie. You really know how to make a girl feel great.’

  ‘Hey, I’m not the one who nearly slept through her own party.’

  ‘Ava’s party, you mean.’

  ‘No. I don’t,’ said Jamie pointedly, gesturing to the blue and white balloons and bunting now strewn about Lisa’s living room.

  ‘Oh no!’ she groaned. ‘Did Ava decide she wanted a Frozen party after all? Now the cake’s all wrong and—’

  ‘No, silly.’ Jamie squeezed Lisa’s hand and led her down the stairs. ‘This party’s for you. It’s your baby shower,’ she said proudly. ‘I know gender-stereotyping is so last century and all, but seriously, I can’t have my nephew schlepping around in all his sisters’ pink hand-me-downs.’ Jamie rejoined Ben at the foot of the stairs and he put his arm comfortably around her shoulder. ‘And besides, my very able assistant did most of the work, including bribing Ava into sharing her party. A promised trip to Luna Park did the trick.’