by Nicola Marsh
“Why did you finally decide to end your marriage tonight?”
He drags his gaze back to meet mine and it’s surprisingly clear, not in the least tortured like it was earlier.
“I already told you, I’m done with the lies.”
I have to ask, even though I may not like the answer. “I hope it has nothing to do with me, because we can’t be together—”
“I did this for me. And I’m not a complete idiot, despite acting like it by giving in to impulse and pawing you.”
The corners of his mouth lift in a rueful grin that’s endearing. “I wouldn’t leave Ashlin and come straight to you for anything other than solace. And it certainly wasn’t my intention tonight to… you know.” A faint blush stains his cheeks, making him appealingly vulnerable. “I really couldn’t think of anywhere else to go so I came here. Just to chat, offload, whatever.” His blush deepens. “Have I fantasized about kissing you? Hell yeah. Countless times.”
Something shifts in his eyes, the hazel darkening to burnt toffee. “And I’ve fantasized about doing a hell of a lot more, but I know I have to deal with my shit and not expect anything from you.”
Relief filters through me, tinged with something else. Disappointment. He’s right and has articulated why we can’t be together but I know I’ll never forget that kiss and how he made me feel for an all too brief moment.
“Sounds like you have it all figured out.”
I don’t mean to sound flippant but a small part of me wonders if he’ll really go through with this. Leaving Ashlin, divorcing, living with the scrutiny that’s bound to come. Justin revels in attention and a messy Parker divorce won’t be good for his image.
“I don’t have a frigging clue, actually, but I’m getting there.” He stands and holds out his hand.
I should ignore it but I’m weak and I want to feel his touch one last time before he goes. I place my hand in his and he pulls me to my feet. We stand there, two feet apart, too close, not close enough. My heart races as he lifts his free hand and cups my cheek.
“The end of my marriage has nothing to do with you, Ria. And I won’t put you in an awkward position again. But if at some point in the future when all this crap is behind me and I ask you out, what will your answer be?”
I want to say yes. I want to snuggle into his arms again.
I settle for resting my cheek in his hand so I don’t have to shake my head.
My answer is no. It will always be no. It has to be.
13
Shamira
Some couples sleep in on a Sunday. Trent and I are up before dawn because he likes helping me set up my stall at whichever market I’m visiting. I’ve told him repeatedly he doesn’t need to help me set up and hang around to sell. He never listens. He’s sweet like that. One of the many reasons I love my husband.
When I first set eyes on him I never expected to fall in love. I’d envisaged a lifetime of faking it: fake smiles, fake hugs, fake sex. It wouldn’t have been hard. I’d been doing it for years before I met him.
But Trent Parker has an inherent goodness that shows in so many ways and within six months I’d fallen for him. He’s chivalrous and sweet and kind, so it’s imperative he never discovers what I did.
I haven’t slept well. The fact Ashlin taunted me with my past yesterday sits like a weight on my chest, making breathing difficult at times. I can’t afford to lose Trent or risk telling him the truth. So I’m stuck in a strange limbo, fearful every time the phone rings or there’s a knock on the door.
The thing is I don’t think Ashlin has as much to lose if I spill her secret. She barely talks to Justin anyway so him discovering her treachery probably won’t change things. They obviously stay married for appearances and perhaps the kids, so Justin learning she cheated may not register. Who knows, they could have an open marriage and he sleeps around too. But if she tells Trent my secret… I will lose him. And he’s everything to me.
“All set up and ready for business.” Trent slips his arm around my waist and squeezes me tight. “I’ll grab that spare box of handmade soaps from the car and be back in a minute.”
“Thanks, and I’ll get our drinks.”
“Make mine a coffee and not one of those soy turmeric lattes you guzzle by the gallon.” He laughs, drops a kiss on the tip of my nose and releases me.
I watch him lope away through the early morning crowd, his long, easy stride quintessentially Trent. He’s easy-going, totally happy in himself and with his life, at complete odds with the rest of his family. Thankfully we won’t have to see them for a while, before May commands us to attend an afternoon tea or an interminable dinner in a month or so. I admire her efforts in trying to keep her family close, when most of us don’t want to be in the same room as each other.
Determined to enjoy today and try to forget about the dramas of yesterday, I rearrange my relaxation blends with the prices facing out, the faintest waft of lavender instantly calming, and stick the ‘Back in 5 minutes’ sign on the front of the stall.
The coffee van isn’t far from my stall so I can keep an eye on merchandise as I grab our drinks. Thankfully, the queue is short and I’m almost at the counter to order when a shadow falls over me, blocking out the sun.
I don’t think anything of it until I hear a too-close voice murmur, “Hello, Mira.”
I stiffen, turn slowly and lock eyes with my past.
I can’t remember his name but I remember the leer and the cold, flat, eyes. A shiver of repulsion ripples over my skin and I resist the urge to rub my arms.
I’d hoped this day would never come. It’s why I avoid the famous Esplanade Market near home, for fear remnants of my past may appear. Eltham is far from Donvale Heights. It should be safe. It isn’t.
I have to escape. I can’t risk him seeing my stall and, in turn, saying something to Trent when he returns. Besides, my husband will take one look at me and know I’m freaked out. My skin’s clammy and my cheeks are ice-cold, meaning I’m probably pale and gnawing at my bottom lip like I usually do when I’m worried.
Mustering my old acting skills I put on a blank face, like I don’t have a clue who he is.
“Do I know you?” I will my heart rate to slow down while glancing around for the quickest escape route.
“Cut the crap.” His voice is the same too, low and guttural, like he swallows cut glass for breakfast and washes it down with a bourbon chaser. “I certainly know you.”
The way he says ‘you’, ugly and possessive, brings back more memories. They crash over me in a stifling wave and I’m drowning: this creep abusing me, the perpetual onion odor that clung to his clothes and seeped out of his skin, the sly way he left bruises where no one could see.
Nausea rolls over me and I sway a little. “You’re mistaken.”
Those soulless eyes fix on me and as I take a step back, I glimpse Trent strolling through the crowd, a large box of my soaps in his hands, hands that will never touch me again if he discovers this prick used to.
When Trent reaches our stall, he’ll see me and come over. I can’t have him anywhere near this awful reminder of my past. If he hears one word from this creep… My heart stops. I can’t let this cretin ruin my marriage and my life. So I do the one thing to ensure they don’t meet.
I turn and run.
I dart through the crowd in the opposite direction of Trent and our stall, planning to circle back around to the car once I lose the creep. I dart a glance over my shoulder when I’m far enough away, relieved to see he’s not giving chase and is stalking in the direction of the toilet block.
I don’t stop running until I reach the car, relieved to find it unlocked. I duck into the back seat and sag in relief, knowing it’s temporary. I have to get away from here. Now.
I fire off a quick text to Trent to meet me at the car. He arrives in under a minute, concern creasing his handsome face. When he sees me cowering in the back seat, he opens the back door and slides in beside me.
“What’s going on? I saw
some guy standing too close to you in the coffee line—”
“I need you to pack up the stall.”
“What?”
His incredulity is warranted and I reach for yet another lie.
“That guy’s an ex. I had a restraining order out against him years ago. I don’t want him anywhere near me so I can’t hang around, I’m too shaken.”
I cling to my husband’s arm and widen my eyes, hoping he’ll see the genuine fear and act accordingly.
Predictably, he doesn’t let me down. “Okay, but we need to talk about this later.”
We will. I’ll spin more BS and he’ll believe me. He always does.
It makes me feel even worse because this considerate, affable guy doesn’t deserve a seasoned liar like me.
14
Ashlin
Justin didn’t come home last night.
We’ve had fights before. Rip-roaring slanging matches that always end with him stomping out like the spoiled brat he is. But he always slinks back during the night and in the morning pretends like nothing happened.
Not this time.
I’m still scared after his taunt that I could lose everything so I do my best to ignore the terror, channeling my anger instead. I’m furious that he hasn’t even sent a text. Nobody treats me like this.
“Mom, we’re going to be late for pony club,” Jessie whines, her eyes wide and beseeching. It gives me a jolt, because I do the same thing when I want to get my way.
“You’re not going,” I snap, hating how my daughters visibly recoil at my raised voice. “Your father’s out and I’ve got things to do.”
“But we love pony club.” Ellen’s bottom lip wobbles and I waver for a second. It’s not fair that the girls should have to pay for their parents’ screw-ups. My life may be empty but my precious girls are by far the best part of it.
From the moment the obstetrician handed each of them to me I’d fallen in instantaneous love, the kind of all-consuming love I’d never come close to experiencing before. The curtain shielding my bottom half so I couldn’t witness the C-section had made me feel detached from the whole birth process, but the moment I’d cradled my babies I’d felt a soul-deep connection in a way I’d never anticipated.
I used to stand next to their cots for hours, watching them sleep, wondering how someone as shallow as me could produce two such wonderful human beings. Justin would join me at times and we’d stand in comfortable silence, his hand holding mine tight, exchanging the occasional wondrous glances. Those had been some of the best times in our marriage.
“Where’s Dad? He’ll organize things for us,” Jessie says, and just like that my resolve hardens and the anger is back, flaring into a burning ball lodged in my chest.
“You’re not going and that’s final,” I yell, snatching my phone off the marble island bench in the center of our monstrous kitchen.
The girls stare at me in round-eyed silence and I curse under my breath, stomping into the butler’s pantry so they won’t see how close I am to crying. I rarely shout at my girls and I hate seeing their frightened expressions. They don’t deserve to bear the brunt of my foul mood.
I need to think. It’s the nanny’s day off and our usual babysitters aren’t available. I know because I’ve already tried contacting all five of them earlier. I can’t be stuck here all day with the girls. I’m brittle and they’ll sense something’s wrong, and I don’t want them knowing how bad things are between their father and me.
I need to get out of here and I’m desperate, so I contact the one person guaranteed to make time for them.
I scroll through my contacts and hit the call button for May.
She answers on the third ring and I exhale.
“Is everything all right with the girls?”
No greeting. No platitudes. Just an assumption I’d never ring unless something is wrong with her precious granddaughters. A fair guess, since I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve called her.
“The girls are fine, May. Actually, that’s why I’m calling, to ask if you can mind them for a few hours.”
Shocked silence greets my request and I hurry on, injecting sweetness into my voice when all I feel like doing is screaming.
“I apologize for the short notice but Justin is busy, I can’t get a sitter and I’ve got errands to run.”
I inexplicably brace, like I expect a stray lightning bolt to strike me down for the monstrous lie.
“Sure, that’s fine, Ashlin. I’m home all day so drop the girls off any time.”
The tension drains from my body and I prop against the upright freezer. “Thanks, May, we’ll be there within the hour.”
“See you then.” May pauses, like she wants to say something else, so I hang up before she can.
My hands are shaking and I have no idea if it’s because of my deception or relief.
“Girls, go get your things, you’re going to your grandmother’s.” I re-enter the kitchen and they haven’t moved, both still staring at me like they expect another verbal explosion, so I beckon and they rush into my open arms. I squeeze them tight, wishing I could protect them against everything, but my eyes burn with tears again so I release them and half turn away. “Quick, I haven’t got all day.”
They scamper toward the stairs and I follow at a more sedate pace. I’ve already showered, slathered scented body lotion all over and slipped into a new nine hundred dollar lingerie set: black lace, with crisscrossing straps that emulate peepholes.
While the girls are upstairs getting ready, I fire off a text.
CHANGE OF PLANS. C U IN 30.
The response is fast as usual.
I’LL BE WAITING.
I could’ve dropped the girls off and made him wait the hour I’d texted earlier. But what’s the point? Whenever I see him, it’ll be the same result. A quick fuck to get back at my husband.
I don’t even enjoy the sex all that much. He is a selfish yet skilled lover and I usually get off. But he gives me so much more. Attention. Compliments. Validation. He makes me feel beautiful and wanted in a way I haven’t felt since the early days of my relationship with Justin.
Justin.
Where the hell is he?
My thumb hovers over my phone screen. I could call. Or text. But he’s the one who threatened to upend my life and he’s the one who didn’t come home last night.
He can go screw himself.
The girls come rushing down the stairs, designer backpacks filled to the brim with whatever stuff they deem to take to May’s. I know they’re into electronics these days and despite hearing about a strict screen time regimen from other mothers I’m almost grateful for the ‘babysitter’ aspect they provide. I let the nanny be the bad guy and limit their onscreen access after school during the week. On the weekends I’m lax, with Jessie spending too much time on her state-of-the-art smartphone and Ellen playing games on her tablet. I often wonder what parents did before the invention of electronics when they needed some time out.
When the girls catch sight of me at the bottom of the stairs their steps slow. They wear matching wary expressions and guilt swamps me for being such a lousy mother, palming them off to their grandmother. Thankfully they love visiting their grandma more than pony club so they won’t give me grief over that.
“Ready to go?” I inject false enthusiasm into my voice.
They’re not buying it, as their expressions don’t change. At that moment I waver. What am I doing? Is this really the life I want to lead, trying to hurt my husband as much as he’s hurt me? I’m desperate for attention, desperate to feel wanted. He’ll hate that the girls have had to miss out on pony club so he’ll feel guilty. He’ll initially blame me, but I know he’ll feel bad about not coming home last night and then we’ll make up. It’s what we always do. I create an argument, he fires up, then we move on, with me once again validated in craving attention no matter how warped. With how angry he was last night, who knows, coming back from this doozy of a bust-up might save our rela
tionship.
I adore my girls and I consider calling May back to cancel. But I glimpse the way Jessie’s glaring at me, like she can see right through me, and I know I’m not capable of faking a good mood for them for the entire day.
“Will Shelley be at Gran’s?” Ellen skips the final step to land in front of me.
“I doubt it,” I say, ushering them toward the mudroom. “Get your shoes on and let’s go.”
The girls hardly say a word on the drive to May’s and I’m glad. I usually enjoy listening to them prattle about boy bands and the latest fashion fad, but I’m on edge today. The sooner I drop them off the better.
“Where’s Dad?” Jessie asks as I pull into May’s expansive driveway.
“Out,” I say, making it sound like he’s on Mars and never coming home.
“Out where?” Ellen sounds scared, and I inwardly curse my inability to hide my animosity toward Justin.
I swivel in my seat in time to see the girls mouth something to each other, making me feel an even bigger ogre, so I reach for some semblance of normality. “Time to go see your grandma.”
When they get out of the car I open my door and beckon them in for a hug.
It’s too brief and when they disengage, I say, “I’ll be back in a few hours.”
They shrug into their backpacks and I add, “Have fun.”
Ellen manages a wave and a half-smile while Jessie’s coolly assessing stare is way too mature for a girl her age.
The front door swings open and May comes out. She raises her hand, like she’s waving me over. That’s my cue to leave.
I slam my door shut, reverse quickly, put the car into gear and don’t look back.
15
May
After the girls rush past me and into the house, I stand on the front porch watching Ashlin speed off like she has a plethora of demons on her tail.