by Brandy Scott
‘Please,’ asked Shelley.
Then again, maybe it would be good for her to get out in the fresh air. Because that was another weapon in her self-care arsenal: exercise. Get the blood circulating, put the focus on the body not the head. And she didn’t need to go anywhere near the crash site, could stick to the back roads. Come straight home afterwards, no diversions.
‘All right,’ she said. ‘Just let me sort this lot out and I’ll get changed.’
Aimee pulled on a pair of leggings — still too tight. ‘You need to lay off the cheesecake,’ she told her reflection. But quietly, in case Shelley was nearby. She didn’t want to be responsible for her daughter developing a bad body image.
She wrestled her hair into a ponytail, shoved her car keys down the side of her sports bra. I’ll just open the kids’ windows, she thought, ducking into Shelley’s room. Tidy as ever, bed made, even in the school holidays. Byron’s was usually a different story: dirty dishes, half-drunk Milo, abandoned sandwiches thick with appreciative ants. Aimee steeled herself. But there was only Byron, typing away in the messaging box of his favourite world-building game. He shut the screen down as she walked in.
‘Sorry, love,’ she said. ‘I thought you were out.’
‘Got bored.’
‘Really? It’s such a nice day out there. Shelley and I are going for a bike ride. Why don’t you come?’
He looked at her as though she’d suggested cleaning his room for fun.
‘Or you could go skateboarding, or down to the river. Why don’t you call some of your friends, see what they’re up to.’
‘They’re busy.’
‘There must be someone you can hang out with.’
He shrugged, but with a brief flash of angst among the acne. There was a fresh crop on his chin, the spots red and embarrassed for themselves. God, hormones were a bitch. Aimee reached out, her own worries forgotten. ‘Let me put some arnica on that. It’ll calm it right down.’
Byron twisted away. ‘Get off.’
He was so awkward, bless him. Like she’d been. But it must be so much harder for him, with all this new territory to navigate. A virgin till university. Not that there was anything wrong with that. Aimee sat down on the edge of her son’s bed.
‘You know, love,’ she said gently, ‘I didn’t have a proper boyfriend till I was nearly twenty, and that was your dad. He was the first guy to ever ask me out.’
Byron flushed. Aimee felt herself blushing too, but she took a deep breath and kept going. It was important that he felt okay about himself, especially now.
‘I had terrible skin, worse than yours, and my hair was horrendous. A total frizzball. None of the guys wanted to speak to me, let alone go out with me.’
Byron slumped in his chair. ‘Mum —’
‘I’m saying I understand, that’s all. And that you don’t have anything to worry about. This is all completely normal. Your skin’ll clear up. You’ll meet someone. And it’s probably better to wait.’ God, how should she put this? Directly, all the websites said. No euphemisms. They’ll appreciate how open you are. ‘And gay sex is just as emotionally involved as straight sex. You don’t want to rush out and do it with just anyone. It’ll be better if you’re really ready, and with someone you care about.’
‘Mum. Please.’
‘I know some of your friends are probably doing it. But there’s no shame in not being experienced. I didn’t sleep with anyone till I got together with your father. And you’re still so young. You need to —’
‘MUM. STOP TALKING. PLEASE, JUST STOP TALKING.’
‘Okay, okay,’ Aimee got to her feet, inched backwards out of the room. ‘But you know you can always talk to me if —’
The door was shut before she could finish her sentence. Ah well. At least she’d shown she understood. And she’d talked about sex like it was a normal everyday thing, which it was. So hopefully he’d take less risks, if it didn’t feel taboo. Aimee mentally congratulated herself on her courage. See, Nick, he did need another chat, and obviously I was the only one brave enough to have it.
There was a slow hand clap on the landing behind her.
‘Oh Mum,’ said Shelley, sounding disappointed. ‘You are such a dork.’
CHAPTER 4
Pete lay listening to the gentle breathing of machines and the soft lies of medical staff. ‘It’s all right, Pete,’ they kept telling him. ‘It’s going to be all right.’
The sight loss was temporary, or at least as far as the doctors could tell. A psychological response to the accident. Nothing permanent. Just give it time. Same with the ribs and the facial fractures. His shoulder had separated, something Pete didn’t know could even happen, but his injuries were mild, considering. The catheter? ‘Just to help you out, mate. Till you’re back on your feet.’
What they wouldn’t tell him was what was going on with Lincoln. ‘Intensive care,’ they said, ‘but don’t worry, we’re looking after him. You just rest up and take it easy.’ Platitudes. No real detail. And it wasn’t like he could read their expressions. But he could hear the whispers just beyond the swinging door, the soft sobs of his sister, clutching his good hand as though she had nothing else to hold onto. He tried to press her for information but she just cried harder, said she didn’t know any more than the doctors told him. He could hear the lie in her hesitation, but it wasn’t fair on the woman.
‘I want to see Cameron,’ he said. His elder son didn’t bother to bullshit anyone, wasn’t worried about feelings and sensitivities; he’d tell him the truth. Pete kicked the end of the bed out of frustration. ‘Where’s Cam? Someone get Cam.’
CHAPTER 5
Light streamed through the stable windows, setting Melinda’s jewellery displays alight. Gold-plating gleamed and silver shone, the lockets winking at the audience in the early morning sun.
Melinda was also on fire. Still buzzing from the weekend’s unexpected sex, she stood in front of her jewellery, glowing just as brightly. This was her strength: talking about her product, explaining how it changed the lives not just of the women who bought it but also of those who sold it. ‘You don’t bullshit,’ Clint said, explaining why she had to be such a poster child for LoveLocked. ‘You’re passionate, but not creepy. They trust you. It sounds like you really love this stuff.’
That was because she really did love this stuff. Melinda stared unblinking at her audience; they gazed back with the rapt attention of particularly devout churchgoers. She’d agreed to all the publicity, posing in her shoe closet for fashion magazines and gossiping with interviewers, but she’d fought him on the location for this season’s launch.
‘If this is going to be about me, then investors need to see where I come from,’ she’d insisted. ‘Let’s show them who I am.’ She’d worried that people wouldn’t make the trip out, that Hensley would be too far, even with the promise of Aimee’s latest vintage and courtesy drivers. But they had. Nearly forty journalists and bloggers and fund managers were squeezed among the barrels in Aimee’s old stables, standing-room only in the back. One reporter had even flown in from Sydney. Result.
Melinda motioned to Clint to show she was ready. She heard the hollow static of her microphone being switched on and felt her heart speed up in response. Showtime. ‘Thank you all so much for coming,’ she said, crinkling her eyes to show she meant it. ‘I don’t need to tell you this is a very important season for LoveLocked, possibly the most important launch we’ve had since we started. If you guys don’t like it, I’m screwed.’
They laughed on cue, and Melinda grinned.
‘Look, you all know we’re going public this year. It’s no secret. But I have other news as well.’ She wrapped her arms around herself, hugging her ‘approachable’ silk wrap dress. Clint had outlawed the tailored suits. ‘LoveLocked is going global,’ she said, a warm glow of pride in her chest. ‘We’re taking this collection to the US and Europe, setting up a whole new business overseas. How exciting is that? I’m so proud to join the growing line of c
ompanies showing the world that Aussie fashion is more than just Uggs.’
Another laugh, louder than the dated joke deserved. Getting them tipsy had been the right idea. Aimee had deliberately held back on the canapés.
‘So this season’s collection is extra special, because it’s going to introduce us to the world. And also because — well, it’s pretty special.’ She had them now, she could relax. ‘Look, I’m not going to stand here and give you a sales pitch. You know the designs will be awesome, because they always are. You know the key pieces will sell out, because they always do. I’m not going to bore you with product descriptions when you’ve got good wine to drink.’
Melinda picked up her own glass, took a decent mouthful. ‘Very good wine.’ She waved the glass at the tables behind her. ‘But there are some additions I think you’ll like. We’re bringing in more sizes to our range of baby lockets. Introducing a new line of engravable key pendants. And we’re making a few changes to the financial model as well, to give our curators more earning potential.’ Clint’s changes, not hers. She didn’t love them, but he said investors would want to see evidence of increasing revenue streams. ‘The design team are here if you want to meet them. Clint’s able to talk about the public offering. Jacinta has USB sticks with high-res images of everything. Other than that, have a good look round and feel free to grab me with any questions. I’ll be here all morning.’ Melinda raised her glass in the air. ‘And make sure you don’t leave without grabbing a few bottles of the excellent Verratti pinot. On us, obviously. You can use it to placate your editors for staying out so long.’
They laughed again, shifting impatiently in their chairs, those who had them. ‘Off you go then,’ Melinda said. ‘Try stuff on, grab a sample pack. Knock yourselves out.’ She smiled particularly widely at the hedge fund managers near the stable doors. ‘And thank you, not just for coming out today, but for all the support you’ve given LoveLocked over the years. We couldn’t do this without you.’
Aimee watched Melinda farewell the last of her guests, squeezing an arm here, leaning forward to kiss a cheek there. She was so good at this, dammit. Like she was good at everything. There was a time when Aimee had thought she’d have a big successful career as well, when university supervisors had talked about potential and prizes, maybe even a Fulbright. Although Aimee had ended up taking a different path.
‘Can you grab their empty glasses,’ she whispered to one of the servers. ‘But nicely.’
She didn’t regret it, the life she’d created for herself. It was full of love and family and security. Today was a little out of her comfort zone, to be honest — Aimee didn’t usually speak to buyers or visitors. That was the deal when they’d taken over the vineyard, back office only. Nick understood. But Melinda had asked, said today was important. So Aimee stood with her husband, pressing wine on people, trying to focus on their questions. ‘It’s good for us as well,’ Nick had told her, and it was. Several journalists had taken brochures, scribbled notes about their latest awards. One was even coming back to do a proper interview.
Aimee gave Melinda a thumbs up as she finally pulled the old stable doors closed. It had been a great day for them all.
‘Fuck, I’m glad that’s over,’ said Melinda, collapsing dramatically into a chair, but her eyes said otherwise. Her pale skin was glowing, her well-behaved ginger curls tumbling over the shoulders of a very un-Melinda-like floral dress.
‘So your dad couldn’t make it then?’ Aimee said casually, finally pouring herself a glass now that she was off duty. A big glass.
‘He’s working,’ said Melinda. ‘Couldn’t get away.’
Aimee raised an eyebrow but didn’t press it. She focused on Melinda’s dress instead, which was far too nice to have come from the local shops. Yellow and red tulips crawled over her hips and breasts, up towards her flushed neck. Hang on. Was that a love bite?
‘Ah.’ Aimee grinned, pouring Melinda a glass as well. ‘I forgot to even ask. Who was the bloke?’
‘Bloke?’ asked Lou, waving away the rest of the bottle. ‘No thanks. Driving.’
‘Bloke,’ confirmed Melinda, pulling a plate of savouries across the table and away from the white-shirted teenager insistent on taking them from her. ‘Not finished,’ she told him. ‘Go away.’
‘Patrick, you can leave. We’ll clear up.’ Aimee looked around the stables, which were surprisingly clean after the hubbub of twenty minutes earlier. ‘You guys can all go if you want. Thanks for helping out.’
She didn’t have to tell them twice. Her teenage serving squad were out the door as fast as she could hand them their under-the- table cash. The only one who hovered was an unusually subdued Tansy, looking uncertainly towards her mum.
‘You can wait in the car,’ Lou told her. ‘I’ll just be a minute.’
‘Don’t go,’ said Melinda. ‘Stay here, celebrate with me.’
‘Can’t,’ said Lou. ‘I need to take Tansy into Fenton.’
‘Put her on the bus.’
Lou shook her head. ‘So, come on then,’ she said. ‘Who’s this bloke?’
Melinda smiled, shy almost, looking more like a teenager than the thirty-something owner of a successful company. She raised a hand automatically to the base of her neck. So it was a love bite. Aimee pulled up a chair.
‘I’ve met someone,’ Melinda said, ultra-casual, but Aimee knew better.
‘Who?’ she demanded. ‘Tell us.’
‘A guy called Dave.’ Melinda took a particularly lascivious bite of her salmon tart. ‘Dave Tolford,’ she reported, licking a pastry crumb from her lips.
‘Nice?’ Lou reached over, grabbed her own tart.
‘Very.’
‘Hot?’
‘Oh yes.’
‘So what does he do?’
‘He’s in real estate,’ said Melinda. ‘Commercial. Lives in Meadowcroft.’
‘Local, but not too local,’ said Lou. ‘Sounds good. How did you meet him?’
‘Dave Tolford?’ asked Aimee. Hang on. ‘I thought he was married.’
‘Separated.’ Melinda pulled the salmon out of a second tart with her teeth, smiling as though she’d caught it herself. ‘And getting divorced.’
Aimee frowned. ‘Are you sure?’
Melinda paused. ‘Y-es. Why?’
Oh shit. ‘Just —’
Melinda stopped smiling. ‘Just what.’
‘Nick,’ called Aimee. ‘Nick!’ He wandered in the back door. ‘Umm. Craig’s friend, Dave Tolford. Is he still married?’
‘The property guy?’ asked Nick. He rested his hands on Aimee’s shoulders, gave the top of her head a quick peck. ‘Yeah. I saw him and his wife at the races just the other week. They seemed pretty solid.’
‘Are you sure?’ asked Lou.
‘Pretty sure,’ said Nick. ‘They have some wicked blues, from what I’ve heard, but I think she just likes the drama.’ He shook his head at Lou. ‘Stay away from him, Lou. That man’s not on the market, and even if he was, the wife would kill you.’
‘It’s not me,’ said Lou.
‘Ahh.’ Nick looked at Melinda with genuine sympathy. ‘Bugger. Sorry, Mel.’
‘Sorry, Mel,’ echoed Aimee.
‘Don’t worry about it,’ Melinda said grimly, tipping the dregs of an empty bottle into her glass. ‘Plenty more salmon in the tart.’
Aimee put her hand over Melinda’s. ‘Let’s open another one of those.’
Melinda shook her off. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said. ‘It was only one night, very drunk.’ She picked up her handbag, pushed her feet back into her heels. ‘But I don’t really feel like celebrating any more, if you don’t mind. Think I’ll head off.’
‘Me too,’ said Lou. ‘Tansy’s waiting.’
‘Don’t go,’ said Aimee. She grabbed a bottle from the display rack, one of their best vintages, but too bad. ‘Stay for one more,’ she begged, looking from one friend to the other. ‘Please?’
‘Nah.’ Melinda was rooting around for her ca
r keys. ‘I need to get this stuff home.’
‘But . . .’ Aimee checked that Nick had gone, that the door to the house was closed. ‘I need to talk to you guys about something.’
Melinda paused, but didn’t put her keys away. ‘What?’
Aimee pulled the crumpled article out of her pocket. She’d debated bringing it up at all, but she needed to discuss this properly. Just for closure. That’s what she’d told herself when she’d picked the newspaper out of the recycling. Stuffed it back in. Took it out again. All she needed was a bit of reassurance so she could nip this wondering in the bud and get a decent night’s sleep. ‘I think we need to talk about this,’ she said, passing the clipping over to Lou.
‘Is that the story you read me on the phone?’ asked Melinda, craning.
‘No!’ said Aimee. ‘It’s a new story. An update.’
‘Aims.’ Melinda set her handbag down on the table. ‘We went over this. It’s not something you need to worry about.’
‘But I’m worried that it is. I’m worried that I should worry.’
Lou looked up. ‘Why am I reading this?’
‘Because Aimee thinks we brought down a plane with her flimsy two-dollar lanterns.’
‘Really?’ Lou turned the paper over for more clues.
‘I think we might have had something to do with it.’ Aimee gripped the stem of her glass. ‘Maybe. I think we should discuss the possibility, at least.’
‘There’s no need.’ Melinda looked faintly pissed off now. ‘I told you. It’s got nothing to do with us.’
‘But the crash was closer than we thought.’ Aimee fought to keep her voice low. Rational. ‘Closer than it even says there in the paper. It wasn’t really up in the ranges at all, more near Maddocks Clearing.’
Melinda stared at her. ‘Please tell me you haven’t been out there.’
‘I was driving Shelley over to a friend’s house.’ Aimee could hear herself gabbling now. ‘It was on the way. I didn’t stop.’
Melinda walked over to Aimee and wrapped her arms around her. She smelled like wine and perfume and expensive oils. She smelled reassuring. ‘Sweetheart, listen to me. We didn’t have anything to do with the accident. It’s physically impossible. Those lanterns are floating in the river somewhere, if they even made it that far. Okay?’ Aimee nodded into Melinda’s neck. ‘Okay.’