My mouth falls open as Nana and Helen agree with sympathetic nods.
“You pulled me out of work to tell me I’m boring? What the hell, Nana?”
“Oh, sweetheart, it’s not that you’re boring. It’s so much worse than that. You’re being a martyr. And if you don’t do something to get off that high horse, soon you’ll be stuck up there all alone, and Leo won’t be around to help you down.”
“I don’t need a man to help me down. I’m a strong independent woman who can do everything on her own. Leo is…he’s a luxury I can’t afford right now. The kids—”
“How long are you going to keep that excuse going?” Helen asks, finally speaking up. “Seems to me you’re using them as a shield to keep from getting your heart broken. Your husband left and he was no Leo, so what’s to say Leo won’t get bored and take off too? Is that your thinking?” She lifts her brows and I choke back a gasp. Is this an intervention or some kind of voodoo ritual where they stab pins into my heart?
“Slow down, Helen,” Nana stage-whispers out of the side of her mouth. “We weren’t supposed to bring that up yet.”
“Yes, I was,” Helen whispers back. “It was tell her she’s being a martyr, warn her that Leo won’t wait forever, then ask her is she’s scared of rejection.” Helen counts them off on her fingers.
“No,” Betsy says, also in an overly loud whisper. “It was the martyr, the warning, her mood, the kids, and then the fear of rejection.”
Nana frowns. “I thought we had a thing about working too much and contacting her lawyer too.”
They exchange glances before Betsy holds a finger up and tells me they need a moment. I let out a sigh as I fold my arms across my chest and listen as they squabble over a piece of paper and the order in which they need to tell me my life is crap. In a nutshell, I need to fix things with Leo to quit being such a downer.
“I’m not making excuses,” I say finally, deciding to take control of this thing myself. “I haven’t handled any part of this past few months well. I’ve lied, I’ve hidden the truth—which is sort of the same thing—I’ve been selfish, self-involved, and I’ve stuck my head in the sand and hoped instead of doing what I knew I should have done and faced my problems head-on. I ran away from everything and everyone when I should have been knuckling down and focusing on my kids. I hurt them when I took them from what they knew. And I really hurt my daughter when I decided to focus on what made me feel good instead of being the mother she needed. I’m trying to fix that. And I miss Leo so fucking much, but this is something I need to do. And he understands that. He said he’ll wait.” I whisper the last part, a fact I’ve been clinging to in all my darkest moments. As the weeks have gone by and our communication has ceased, my fingers have been slipping, yet I still hold on. I need to feel like there’s something for me on the end of this difficult road. And yet, I feel guilty just thinking that focusing on my kids is a difficult road because they deserve better than that. They deserve a mother who is one-hundred-percent committed and fulfilled by them, and I know I’m not cutting it, but I’m trying. I’m trying so fucking hard.
“Men don’t wait like women do,” Helen says, her head tilting a little as her kind eyes give me a hard truth.
“He promised,” I argue. Clinging. Clinging.
Betsy steps closer and places a hand on my elbow. “There’s a For Sale sign on his apartment, Darcy. It went up this morning.”
I stumble back and hold my hand up when they try to catch me. I don’t want to be touched right now.
Eight weeks.
“He’s leaving?”
All three women nod.
I shake my head. “Eight weeks,” I whisper. “That’s it? That’s all he could give me?” What happened to forever? What happened to me being worth it? Eight weeks.
Holy fuck.
“Darcy,” Nana says, her voice stern as she cuts into my internal freak-out. “I know you think you’re doing all this to help your daughter. But while you’re hurting yourself, all you’re doing is teaching her that tantrums win. You’ve been an absolute shell of a person since you let Leo go. You’re so broken that you don’t see what’s happening. Your kids are constantly bickering. Archer puts on a brave face but hates Abigail for forcing you to push Leo away. And Abigail knows what she did was spiteful and wrong, but she’s too damn proud to admit it and try to put things right again.”
“Sound like somebody you know?” Betsy asks, eyes aimed at me.
I can’t quite catch my breath. “I—”
“Do you know how I know that?”
I swallow back the tears, because I do know. It used to be me. Every day. After school.
“Please don’t say it, Nana.”
“Honey, they’re missing you. You thought you were absent before, focused too much on Leo. You weren’t. You were there. Now, you’re just…you’re gone, Darcy. There’s no light in you anymore.”
“But—”
“This nonsense stops today, Darcy,” Nana insists. “And I don’t want to hear any bullshit about Leo not waiting long enough or Abigail not being ready for you to have a man in your life. You and Leo make each other happy and you’re miserable apart. I can’t stand it. Abby and Archer need a happy mother. It’s the single best thing you can do for them. So, quit pushing your man away and go fix it. Go and be happy, or-or I swear to you, Darcy, I’ll dig that cauldron out of my storage cage and we’ll all put a hex on you. I won’t stand by and watch this self-destructive behaviour one moment longer. Go to him, child,” Nana insists. “Go and talk to him before it’s too late and you lose him for good.”
I place my hand on my chest. It’s the first time Nana has ever been this harsh with me. I don’t know what to say.
“You heard the woman,” Betsy says. “Go.”
Helen just smiles and shoos me away with a flick of her hands.
I step away, my brow knitted as I try to wrap my head around the fact that I just got owned by a gang of old ladies. Leo has put his apartment up for sale. What the actual fuck?
“Oh, and Darcy,” Nana calls out as I stumble away. “There’s one more thing. You might want to give your lawyer a call. He keeps leaving messages saying he’s found what you’ve been looking for. Said something about a settlement. While you’re sorting your life out, you might want to get on that too.”
FORTY-SIX
LEO
“I can’t believe this is our last show with you, Leo,” Chrissy, one of my co-hosts says on-air. My fill-in position on breakfast radio is coming to an end and I have mixed feelings about it. It’s been good for me to be forced out of the workshop, to get out of my own head and interact with people. “I’m really going to miss seeing your pretty face across from me each morning. It’s been great having you on the show this past month.”
“Thank you, Chrissy,” I say with a laugh. “I actually spoke to Dave yesterday, and he’s feeling a lot better now. He told me to make sure I put his chair back the way he had it.”
“That’s right, people. Dave Hollis is back on Monday morning,” the other co-host, Hamish adds. “Leo Murphy has been kind enough to keep this show a trio in Dave’s stead. And I’m sorry to see him go, but I have to admit I’ve missed Dave-o. Poor guy looked like he went a few rounds with a sledgehammer when I saw him last. Dental surgery is not kind to the face. Not that it was a particularly pretty face to begin with…”
Chrissy laughs. “Oh, Dave’s not that bad. But, I do have to wonder, because you played rugby with Dave, didn’t you, Leo?”
“I did,” I reply. “He was hooker, and I was fly-half when we toured with the Wallabies. We exchanged the captaincy between us for a bit, but yeah, I’ve known him my entire career. Back when we were kids playing club footy.”
“OK,” she continues. “Then how come he came out of the sport looking beat-up and you came out looking like a dream?”
“I think she has a crush on you, Murph,” Hamish says with a laugh.
I laugh too, rubbing a hand over my stubble
before I answer. “Well, that’s got a lot to do with the positions we played. Dave spent most of his career in the centre of the scrum and it gets really rough in there. The guys tape their ears and wear headgear, but there’s only so much friction your head can take before you get things like cauliflower ears.”
“You weren’t in the scrums?” Chrissy asks.
“I don’t think she followed your career, mate.”
“No. My position made me a half-back. Basically, we’re the guys outside the scrum who get the ball and run it up the field. We take our fair share of hits, but we don’t get the retired boxer look about us when we make a career of the game.”
“That’s interesting. See, I always thought you all got in on the scrum, goes to show what I know.” Chrissy chuckles at herself before she continues. “Now, you had a pretty big career with the Wallabies, Leo. But you always worked two jobs, didn’t you? You managed to get yourself an apprenticeship that you completed in the off season, even when you played professionally. What was the thought process behind that?”
“Nothing complex, I was simply raised to have a backup plan. I felt so incredibly lucky to be playing professionally, but I was aware that even the best players retire in their thirties, so I needed a steady business to fall back on.”
Hamish shakes his head, his expression filled with wonder. “That’s admirable, man. You had this massive career in rugby, and you could have retired and lived off your name for the rest of your life. Yet you work as a carpenter.”
“He still commentates games,” Chrissy adds.
“Yeah, but that’s a few months a year,” Hamish counters. “The rest of the time he’s banging together a bunch of wood.” Chrissy covers her mouth and giggles. Hamish rolls his eyes. “You know what I mean. And my point is, if I’d been in Murphy’s shoes, I would be taking things a hell of a lot easier. The guy has a killer work ethic. Our listeners won’t know this, but we get to the station around five each morning, leave around ten, then we go home and relax or whatever. But Leo goes back to his workshop—”
“Murphy’s Carpentry and Cabinetry.” Shameless plug.
Hamish laughs as he keeps talking. “And he works with his hands all day. I just admire your dedication. You could be riding the fame train, but you’re the most down to earth guy I know.”
I’m also desperate to fill every waking moment of my day so I don’t go all caveman on Darcy and throw her over my shoulder, but I won’t be talking about that on-air. No. Today we’re clearing something else up.
I give Hamish an appreciative nod. “Thanks, Hamish. I think my mother deserves all the credit for that. She always kept me grounded. And I do enjoy my work. It’s not a very imaginative business name, but I’m good at what I do and I like keeping busy. I like working with my hands.” I shrug. “Once I’m finished up here—”
“I don’t want him to go,” Chrissy mock-cries.
“—I’ve got this job I want to finish up then I can get started on a passion project.”
“Oh,” Chrissy says, perking up. “Do tell.”
“I’m doing up an old house. My son is coming to live with me, and my life is heading in a new direction, so it’s time to make a few changes.”
“This is the son you had with Tash Murphy from Neighbours, right?” she asks. It’s the question this whole segment has been leading up to.
“She wasn’t on Neighbours at the time, but, yes.”
“Now, you’ve been divorced for a long time—thirteen years—and she kept your surname because she wanted to have the same name as her son?”
“That’s right.”
“Several weeks ago, the No Idea magazine ran a story that you two were getting back together again. Was there any truth to that?”
“Absolutely not.” I laugh again, although this time it’s uncomfortably. I’m nervous doing this on-air, but I’m bloody tired of letting someone else narrate my story. “Tash and I, we’ve always had a strained relationship. I’ve tried to keep fairly tight-lipped where the press is concerned, but even after all these years, she keeps coming at me and I’m tired of staying quiet, Chrissy.”
“Do want to break that silence today?”
“Yeah,” I say, holding her gaze while nodding. “I do.”
AFTER DETAILING over a decade of manipulation and deceit, I walk out of the radio station feeling like a huge weight has lifted off my shoulders. My mother always said that it took two to quarrel and only one to end it. So, I’ve never been a man to speak badly of others in public, always preferring to take the high road and refuse to play petty mud-slinging games. I thought that if I could endure Tash until Niall turned eighteen, I’d be free of her. But I’m done from her latest bout of Machiavellian behaviour—she’s petitioning the Department of Foreign Affairs to approve ‘special circumstances’ so she can take Niall to London without my permission.
“You have two choices, Leo,” she said over the phone when I confronted her. “Come to London with us or watch me take him away for good.”
“You’re out of line, Tash. He doesn't even want to go. This is pure spite and I won’t let you do it.”
“Then I suppose I’ll see you in court.”
I’ve been forced to re-open our custody case to fight for what’s right for Niall’s education and block her from taking him out of the country. Meanwhile, she’s been talking to the press, concocting this story that I convinced her I wanted to get back together, just to gain Niall’s trust and force her out of the picture. I think she’s been getting pointers off the writers of her soap, because this is her most convoluted tale yet. It’s a nightmare. And it couldn’t have come at a crappier time. I’m under the pump at work, I’m heartsick without Darcy, so I can’t take any more. Tash’s bullshit needs to stop, and after finally speaking out, unloading years upon years of her bullshit, I feel bloody brilliant. I know this won’t be the end of it, but I’m not backing down this time. This is for me. And it’s for Niall. And hopefully, eventually, it will be for Darcy too.
“Great show in there today,” Hamish says as he follows me out into the carpark.
“Thanks for helping to make it happen.”
He holds his hand out to shake mine. “It’s the least I can do. You’re a good man, Murph. Don’t let the media shit-fight get you down.”
I give him a nod before he claps me on the shoulder then breaks off to walk to his own car. When I get inside mine, I pull my phone from my pocket and look at the dark screen, taking a breath to prepare myself before I turn it back on. The Apple symbol appears before the onslaught starts. Journalists. Reporters. Tash.
And Niall.
Shit.
His is the only call I return. I hope he doesn’t hate me for outing his mother.
“Son,” I say as I hold the phone to my ear, holding my breath until I hear his voice.
“I only have one question,” he says by way of greeting. There’s anger in his tone, which is to be expected.
“Ask away.” For the first time in his life, I’m an open book.
“Was all that true?”
I let out my breath. “Every word. I can prove it all.”
“Then I need you to come and get me. The lawyer said I can choose who I live with, and I don’t wanna live here any more. She told me you didn’t want me, Dad.” The stress in his voice makes him sound young again, and I close my eyes, glad this didn’t backfire, but pissed it’s what it came to. Even more so that it took me this long to fight dirty in return. But when her selfish actions are threatening every relationship I care about, there is no choice. It’s my turn to be in control of the story.
FORTY-SEVEN
DARCY
“You’d better have him home by Sunday night, Leo, or I will sue for breach of orders. That will fuck up your plans.” Tash’s shrill voice can be heard through the closed doors of Leo’s apartment. At least I know where he is now.
After I left the café, I went to the workshop looking for him, and when he wasn’t there, I came here inst
ead.
“If you could for once, stop thinking about yourself and worry about your son for ten seconds, you’d realise that he chose to come here,” Leo yells back.
“Because you’re spreading lies,” Tash screeches. And I’m surprised the windows aren’t rattling.
“It was the truth,” Leo booms. “You want the proof? I’ll show you the fucking proof.”
I really shouldn’t be standing out here listening to this. It’s obviously none of my business and I should go inside and pretend I can’t hear a thing, but my feet don’t want to move. When Tash screams something indecipherable and storms out of the apartment via the sliding door, I’m caught on the footpath, kicking myself. I could have at least made it to the privacy of Nana’s deck before I started eavesdropping.
She stops in her tracks when she sees me, levelling me with a cold stare that causes my hair to stand on end. “He’s not worth it,” she says to me before she stomps off and gets into her Mercedes convertible, speeding off.
Mouth open, heart thudding, I turn back to the apartment building and find Leo standing in the open door, tension radiating off his body. We lock eyes and I’m shocked to find his hard.
My distress over the sale of his apartment falls away, replaced with concern for his well-being. “Is every—”
“Not now, Darcy,” he snaps, raking his hands through his hair, nostrils flared.
“I—”
“Please. I can’t talk to you right now.” I blink rapidly as he turns away and locks his door. Distress shudders its way through my chest. I’m rattled by the anger in his tone and his reaction to my presence. There was a time not so long ago when we’d sit on our decks, talking through the privacy screen, using it as a confessional as we worked through our problems like life-long friends. Now he says, ‘not now’ and locks me out. Eight weeks.
What the fuck just happened?
Niall appears on the other side of the glass door, avoiding my gaze as he reaches up and lowers the blind so I can’t see in. I’m being shut out. Shut out and pushed away.
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