Michelle Vernal Box Set

by Michelle Vernal

  “It is but are you serious? We’d probably wind up killing each other.”

  “Becs, I am beginning to think we would rub along nicely, and the kids love having you around. It makes sense because the cook school’s getting busier every week, which means I am getting more and more tied up with the paperwork side of things when I would much rather be hands-on.”

  “My gosh, girl, are you actually admitting you can’t do everything?”

  “I am, yes. So what do you reckon?”

  “I reckon you’d have to promise not to be bossy.”

  Jennifer laughed. “I can’t make promises I know I won’t keep.”

  “Well, it would make the transition home much easier for me and I have had thirty-odd years of you bossing me about so...I think it is a bloody fantastic idea. Thanks, sis.” Rebecca leaned over and gave her sister a hug.

  They lapsed into satisfied silence after that, each lost in their thoughts before Jennifer, leaning forward to pick up a magazine lying on the coffee table, asked, “Whose is this?” She held up the cover. Cosmopolitan.

  “It’s Melissa’s, of course. I don’t know how she can read it month after month. It’s been going for about a hundred years, and it’s always the same: a thousand ways to reach orgasm or how to find your G-spot, blah, blah, blah, boring,” Rebecca stated.

  Jennifer peered over the top of the magazine before flicking through it. “Actually, sis, it’s not boring at all once you know where your G-spot is.”

  Rebecca waved her hand. “Ugh, too much information.”

  “Can I take it from those comments then that you’re not interested in John the twenty-six–year-old firefighter from Essex?”

  “Who?”

  “This month’s totally nude centrefold.”

  Rebecca leaped forward and snatched the magazine out of her sister’s hands, knocking her wine over in the process.

  “Jeez, sis—down, girl!”

  “I have a lot of pent-up frustration.” Rebecca had a quick glance at John’s impressive vital statistics before running to the kitchen for a cloth.

  “I’m going to head up to bed,” Jennifer stated, tossing the magazine aside and leaving Rebecca to mop up the wine. “Too much excitement in one evening for me.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  REBECCA PULLED UP OUTSIDE Sea Breezes B&B at nine the following morning. It was a cool, overcast day, and it suited her sombre mood down to the ground. She got out of the car and peered up at the two-storey house Ciaran had chosen to take up temporary residence in. It looked at least a hundred years old and judging by the peeling white paintwork, it had indeed been victim to the sea’s salt breeze. Opening the little wrought-iron gate, she wished the sick feeling that had settled in the pit of her stomach from the moment she had opened her eyes that morning would go away. She didn’t want to do what she was about to do, but Ciaran didn’t deserve to be left dangling, as Melissa had worded it. Wandering up the path to the front door, she licked her lips nervously before pulling the string back and forth vigorously as she rang the old-fashioned bell.

  Footsteps echoed down the hallway inside, and a woman’s thin voice warbled, “I’m not deaf, thank you very much.” The owner of the voice was an elderly woman with long silvery hair pulled back into a loose bun. She had blackcurrant eyes that narrowed beadily as she opened the door and checked her bell was still intact before turning her gaze to Rebecca. “Yes?”

  “Um, hello, er, sorry about the bell. I wanted to see a guest you have staying, Ciaran. Ciaran Cahill.”

  “Rebecca, hi!” He appeared behind the silver-haired harridan. “Mrs Doody, this is Rebecca Loughton.”

  Mrs Doody nodded acknowledgment but didn’t budge to let her pass. This young lass had floozy stamped all over her and so long as she had breath in her body, there would be no shenanigans in her establishment.

  “I called because I need to have a word, Ciaran.” She was tempted to add “in private” but truth be told, she was scared Mrs Doody would cast a spell on her if she did. She bore an uncanny resemblance to the witch in a Margaret Mahy book she’d read to Hannah the other night.

  “Right, well, I’ll grab my jacket and we’ll go for a walk, shall we?”

  THEY FOUND A BENCH on the waterfront and, huddling down into their respective jackets, they watched the grey water lap hungrily at the rocks in silence. Ciaran didn’t want Rebecca to speak because he had already surmised that he wasn’t going to like what she had to say. He couldn’t stop her, though, and despite her dry mouth, Rebecca forced herself to try to swallow before spitting out what it was she had come to say. He sat silently, staring straight ahead while she explained the plans she had hatched with Jennifer the night before.

  “You know I have feelings for you or you wouldn’t have come here in the first place. I’m not going to label them or try to explain them to you, though, because they’re just not enough.” She softened her tone, trying to take the sting from her words. “If I don’t stay and see this teaching course through, then I will never be all I can be. In the long run, that would mean it wouldn’t work between us because I’d be short-changing us both.” It was like talking to a brick wall, she thought, taking in his ramrod posture as his gaze never wavered from the misty horizon. “I have to do this, Ciaran. It’s time for me to come home. Jennifer needs me, the kids need me, and I want to be here for them.” Her voice trailed off; as she finished and saw his face was still set in stone, she changed tack. “Believe me, I am so, so sorry you had to come all this way for me to tell you that I am not coming back.”

  He let his breath out slowly. “Yeah, so am I.”

  The quiet stretched out between them, broken only by a scream from a seagull as it swooped, searching for food.

  “I had no idea you were a dancer,” Ciaran eventually said. “I didn’t think knowing all the moves to ‘The Time Warp’ counted.”

  Rebecca couldn’t bring herself to smile. “It doesn’t and I haven’t been, not for a long time. It’s always been in me, though, and I think I always knew I’d find my way back to it one day.”

  “Would it have been different if I hadn’t...you know...with Tania?”

  “No, because this isn’t about you; it’s about me.” Rebecca stared at the hundreds of mussels glued to the rocks, impressed by their staying power as the waves fought to knock them free.

  “Well, I don’t suppose there’s much more to say.” He got up, and Rebecca wanted to reach out and say—what exactly? She’d said what she needed to, and now she had to sit and watch as he walked out of her life for good. She swallowed the lump that had risen in her throat, hoping she hadn’t just made the biggest mistake of her life.

  She sat on that bench for a long time after Ciaran’s hunched form had disappeared from view, trying to find solace in the rhythmic shushing of the waves. Eventually, the damp salty air began to penetrate her bones and standing up, she walked briskly back down the boardwalk to her car. She’d made her choice; there was no going back, she thought, climbing behind the wheel, determined not to look up at Sea Breezes for fear of finding Ciaran looking back at her.

  BETTY WAS IN THE GARDEN with an armful of herbs as Rebecca pulled up outside the Cook’s Quarters. It was a relief to see a solid and reliable, friendly face because she knew heading into the house would be useless. There was no way she would be able to settle at anything, apart from maybe a spot of vigorous vacuuming. What she needed was a good distraction like Betty and besides, she had been feeling guilty about not having been down to the cook school sooner to see how she was managing with her new charges. Slamming the car door, she wandered up to greet her and was met with an enthusiastic kiss on the cheek. Linking her arm companionably through the older woman’s, they strolled back down the path towards the classroom.

  “How’ve you been getting on with your, er, guests then?”

  “Well, they’re certainly enthusiastic. I’ll give them that. It’s kind of catching, which is nice. It’s been awhile since I’ve gotten so fire
d up about our local produce.”

  Rebecca nodded, even though she found the image that presented itself of the warrior princesses drooling over a lamb loin quite disturbing.

  Betty caught her expression. “You know, once you get past their armour-plating, they’re actually quite a lot of fun.”

  Rebecca squeezed her arm. “Sorry. I’ll take your word for it. I’m pleased it’s going well because when I walked in the other morning and saw them all, to be honest, I thought you were in for a right week of it.”

  Betty chuckled. “Yes, they did take a bit of getting used to. I think this lot is going to seem like pussycats compared to next week’s guests, though.”

  “Really?” Rebecca was intrigued. Who could be worse than the Memphis Branch of the Xena Warrior Princess Fan Club?

  “The Daniel O’Donnell Fan Club, all the way from every rural province in Ireland. Apparently he’s touring at the moment, so they’ve teed up three days here after his Christchurch concert.”

  Rebecca didn’t get a chance to digest this news because a voice suddenly called out in greeting, “Well, hey there, lil lady! Long time no see.”

  She held her hand up in greeting. “Hi, Bonnie-May. Betty’s just been telling me how much she’s enjoying having you all.”

  The princess-wannabe looked pleased and with her armour chinking, skipped down the steps to fling her chunky arms around Betty.

  “We think Betty here is jest the sweetest thung too.”

  “You won’t if you don’t get any lunch today. Did you manage to finish the marinade and get the lamb in the oven while I’ve been gone?”

  “Sho did, sugar-pie.”

  From inside the classroom, they heard a shout: “Bonnie-May, what in tarnation are you up to out there?”

  Her face reddened. “That Mindy-Lou! One of these days, I swear, dogonit.” She caught herself before she finished the thought. “I best be doing what she says and get myself back inside because we’re in the middle of acting out episode three.” She looked at them gravely. “That’s the one where poor Gabrielle is kidnapped to become the bride of Morpheus and Xena has to rescue her.”

  The two women nodded knowledgeably at Bonnie-May’s retreating back and as the door closed behind her, Betty whispered conspiratorially, “Like I said, they do take a bit of getting used to.”

  Rebecca grinned by way of reply. Oh, to be so open-minded.

  Making her way up the stairs, Betty turned and asked, “So what are you going to do with yourself today, young lady?”

  Rebecca shrugged. She didn’t want to explain what had transpired with Ciaran, so she couldn’t very well say she planned on spending her day moping. “My day’s not going to be anywhere near as exciting as yours by the sound of it. I thought I’d get stuck into a spot of hoovering.” She shook her head. “The mess kids can make with a bowl of Weetabix and a piece of toast has to be seen to be believed.”

  Betty smiled and patted Rebecca’s arm. “That’s children for you. You’re a good girl, Rebecca.”

  “Thanks, Betty. Oh, before I forget, could you tell Jen I’ll pick up Hannah and head to the supermarket on our way back to pick up the bits and bobs on her shopping list?” She wanted to keep busy.

  “I’ll pass it on. Jennifer will wonder how she ever managed without you around. Now, though, I’d better go on inside and rescue her. ” She frowned. “I hope I don’t get drafted in again. Yesterday I had to pretend to be the evil Callisto or someone or other.”

  Rebecca was still laughing, albeit rather hysterically, as she plugged the vacuum cleaner in ten minutes later. She put her back into it and had the downstairs finished in no time. Unplugging the machine, she stretched, feeling like she’d just done a full body work-out. She was just standing back to survey her handiwork when she heard a pounding on the door.

  Trotting over to answer it, she spied a courier van haring down the driveway, having left a package on the doorstep. Bending down to retrieve it, she glanced at the addressee and was surprised to see her name. Who would be sending her parcels here? Carrying it through into the kitchen, she rummaged in the drawer for a pair of scissors and snipped it open before thrusting her hand into the bag to see what it contained. Whatever it was, it was soft and silky, she thought, pulling it out and gazing at a gorgeous emerald-green bra. A further rummage produced the matching set of knickers and a card. The knickers had been the giveaway clue as to who her mysterious benefactor was and Rebecca opened the card without bothering to read the verse about friendship on the front.

  I’m so sorry, Becs.

  I miss you and I will stop being an obnoxious and lazy cow, I promise. Please ring me.

  Lots of love,

  Melissa.

  She’d chosen the underwear well, Rebecca thought, running her finger over the lace topping the bra’s cups. The colour was her too. The set was French, and it would have cost her a fortune. She would phone Melissa but not just yet.

  Shoving the underwear back in the bag, she glanced at her watch and tossed up between running upstairs to get changed or knocking back a well-earned coffee before going to pick Hannah up. Opting for the coffee, Rebecca sat down with it at the dining room table, her eyes gazing out through the French doors to the haze of hills in the distance. Seeing but not looking.

  Blinking rapidly as a thought occurred to her, she wondered what she would do if David were to make a move on Friday? Did she even fancy him or was he just a good-looking, convenient distraction from Ciaran? Whatever he was, she’d already decided not to tell Jen what she was up to. Not after her reaction the last time she had seen him. All the telltale signs that David was interested in her were there, though. Who knew? If she didn’t give things a chance and go out with him, she could be missing her shot at something special. Especially now that she and Ciaran had reached the final chapter.

  The problem was that if Jennifer found out, she could be jeopardising her fledgling relationship with her sister over no more than a what-if. Sighing deeply, she tried to remember that catchphrase of Melissa’s. What was it again? Oh yeah, that was it: analysis is paralysis.

  With “analysis is paralysis—go with the flow” as her affirmation for that afternoon, Rebecca picked Hannah up. Anna looked quite dejected as she appraised her tracksuit bottoms and worn jumper. Surely that wasn’t the attire of a nymphomaniac? Rebecca hadn’t been fazed, though, because she was just going with the flow. Twenty minutes later, halfway down the confectionary aisle of Super Value, “go with the flow” flew right out the sliding doors.

  Hannah, seated at the helm of the trolley, was unable to comprehend the simple fact that she couldn’t just take anything she fancied off the supermarket shelves. So, the little girl bided her time while Rebecca, holding a shiny purple and gold package in her hot little hand, had been in deep contemplation of a bar of Turkish Delight for dessert that night. Hmm, should she or shouldn’t she? Go on, live a little! Chocolate always makes things better, a devilish little voice inside her head had urged. So, she decided to ignore the sugar content and focus instead on the conscience-salving words: 60% less fat than a standard bar of chocolate. That was good enough for her. With her mind made up, she’d turned to drop it into the trolley only to be confronted with her niece, safety belt flung aside, standing up on the narrow seat.

  Teetering precariously, she was frantically attempting to wrestle a packet of jelly dinosaurs off their hook. It all happened quickly after that. Picking the screaming Hannah—together with her egg-sized lump that protruded from her head—off the floor, Rebecca abandoned the shopping. Her new affirmation as she bundled the little girl straight into the back of the car being, “bloody, bloody hell!”

  A pit stop at the pharmacy on the way home revealed that Hannah would live, and a course of chocolate milk and a DVD was prescribed.

  Jennifer deposited Jack back at the house shortly after three o’clock before asking Rebecca if she would be okay to watch them while she carried on down at the cooking school. “They’re a full-on group o
f girls. I think Betty needs all the help she can get.”

  Feeling that some serious brownnosing was required after the supermarket trolley incident, Rebecca had smiled and replied with a breezy, “Sure, no problem.”

  It wasn’t long before she was regretting being so obliging, as Jack wasn’t exactly sunshine and light. Ben, she managed to wheedle out of him, had been away all day, hence his mood and before she knew it, she had World War III on her hands. Hannah, playing the injured soldier to the hilt, refused to forfeit even one minute of the Wiggles. A compromise was reached only after intense negotiations (i.e., screaming like a banshee at the pair of them to cut it out before telling Jack he could go and watch the TV up in her room). Watching as he trooped up the stairs with a handful of hastily-grabbed biscuits, she rolled her eyes. It meant sharing her bed with a thousand biscuit crumbs tonight, but hey, greater sacrifices had been made in the name of peace.

  The ceasefire remained in place until dinnertime, when both of them turned their nose up at the vegetarian lasagne their mother had lovingly prepared. She’d left it out on the bench to be reheated. Unable to face any more fighting, Rebecca snatched the two dinners up off the table and threw them in the bin. Jack and Hannah watched in amazed delight as she tossed a pizza in the oven instead. If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em, she decided twenty minutes later, opening her mouth wide to chomp into a generous triangle of meat lover’s supreme.

  Despite feeling like she’d overdone it in the cheese department, the next couple of hours passed almost without a hiccup. She had gotten the children into bed and had just settled in to watch Coronation Street. Even though the episodes were nearly a year behind what they’d been watching in Ireland, there was something comforting about watching the reruns. Finding Coro on the tele was a bit like spotting McDonald’s golden arches in a foreign country, Rebecca concluded—you instantly felt at home. As the actors’ familiar voices washed over her, she relaxed into the sofa. She was determined to immerse herself in their problems and forget the look on Ciaran’s face when she’d told him she wasn’t going back to Dublin with him.