Promises

by Cathryn Hein

  After another half an hour in the ring, during which Buck infuriated her even more by behaving once again impeccably, she thanked Aaron for his help and left. That evening, she called Ben and apologised for being contrary, but if the invitation to dinner was still open, she’d love to accept.

  After all, she had lots of life to catch up on.

  Seventeen

  Aaron wandered into the pub and held his hand up in greeting when he saw Josh. They’d been friends since high school, both horse-mad, although in different ways. Josh was seduced by the thrill of the punt, but he knew his way around a horse and could be relied on to help out in the yard when needed. Aaron valued his friendship, but it was hard for them to find time to see each other. Josh worked for a local logging contractor and his mornings started as early as Aaron’s.

  Aaron mimed taking a drink and Josh nodded. He leaned against the bar and looked around as he waited for his order.

  It’d been weeks since he’d been out but nothing had changed. The pokies room was filled with the local addicts. In the main area, men like Josh were staring at the TAB screens, checking the fields for the dogs or the trots, drinking beer and sitting on bar stools. At the other end of the bar, half a dozen people of various ages, a family Aaron supposed, ate counter meals while watching football on yet another television.

  No one seemed to be talking. He couldn’t blame Sophie for keeping away. There was no comfort here.

  He paid for the beers and carried them over to the tall table Josh had commandeered in front of the big screen. They tilted their glasses at one another and then drank. Josh’s eyes returned to the race he was following. Aaron wasn’t interested, but it was better to be out than moping around Hakea Lodge thinking about Sophie.

  He’d had a good day. Two placings had put some much needed cash in his pocket. He would have liked to celebrate with Sophie over another steak and red wine dinner, but that was only asking for trouble.

  ‘So hows things?’ asked Josh when the race had finished.

  ‘Not bad. Couple of placings today.’

  ‘Yeah, I saw. How’s Sophie?’

  Aaron shrugged. He wished he’d never mentioned Sophie but he had to say something when he’d asked Josh to look after the horses while he rushed off to Lake Ackerman. Josh had taken one look at him, shaken his head and announced, ‘Mate, you’ve got it bad.’ Aaron hadn’t believed him then, but he did now.

  ‘She’s fine.’

  Josh looked up from sorting his betting slips. ‘So it’s going crap.’

  ‘We’re just friends.’

  Josh gave him a ‘yeah, you keep telling yourself that’ look, but didn’t say anything more. He checked his form guide and rose to place another bet. Aaron picked up his slips and went through them. The amounts he wagered were staggering, but then Josh had always gambled big. Aaron sometimes wondered if he was at the wrong end of the business. Josh invariably had money, whereas Aaron was always broke.

  He took another gulp of beer. Josh sat back down, a peculiar look on his face.

  ‘You’re not going to like this,’ he said.

  ‘Like what?’

  Josh used his head to indicate the public entrance to the front bar. ‘Sophie’s sitting in there with Ben Moore.’

  A jealous burn scorched Aaron’s insides. He shrugged, trying to show he didn’t care, but his eyes darted toward the doorway. The angle was wrong. He could only see a table at which a middle-aged couple were drinking small glasses of beer and picking at a packet of chips. He feigned interest in the dogs and trots for a while, chatting to Josh about the yard until he’d finished his beer.

  ‘You want another?’

  ‘My shout,’ said Josh.

  ‘Doesn’t matter. I’ll get it.’

  Josh threw him a look and then went back to staring at the screens.

  He walked slowly up to the bar, the burn growing worse with every step.

  Sophie sat alone at a table, fiddling with the strap of a small evening bag and staring out of the window to the street. Her fingers worked incessantly, twisting the strap into a knot and then untying it again, the agitation of her hands belying her calm expression. She was made up and combed to perfection, and wearing an expensive-looking dress made of stretchy blue fabric. It clung to her breasts, showing off their perfect, round softness. The sight of her, so exquisitely gorgeous, filled Aaron with hunger and despair.

  The pub’s all-knowing bar lady stepped in front of him. ‘She’s out of your league, sonny.’

  ‘I know.’

  She patted his hand. ‘Not to worry. Good-looking sort like you will never be short of offers.’

  But Aaron only wanted Sophie. The one person he couldn’t touch.

  With another sympathetic pat, the bar lady moved away to pull the beers, returning Sophie to Aaron’s view.

  She was now gnawing at a thumbnail, but her expression remained unfathomable. Aaron wondered where Ben had disappeared to, and then he was there, handing Sophie a glass of white wine and sitting down close to her. She smiled at him, and Ben leaned forward and whispered something, his eyes lingering on her mouth. Aaron’s gut clenched. The urge to leap the bar and drag Sophie to safety had him gripping the edge of the counter with curled fingers.

  Then his view was blocked once more. He ignored the bar lady’s look and paid, catching a last glimpse of Sophie in the moment before he walked away. She was still smiling, but it wasn’t a polite smile – it was the same shy one he’d fallen in love with, and Ben was looking at her in a way he recognised only too well.

  He stayed for another beer, talking racing with Josh and trying not to look as though he cared, but he drank quickly, eager to be out of there and back at Hakea Lodge, where he could lick his wounds in private.

  He left via the front bar, but when he checked Ben and Sophie were gone.

  Aaron sat slumped on his threadbare sofa. An almost empty bottle of red wine sat on the coffee table, an empty glass beside it. In his right hand, he held his mobile. Sophie’s name glowed bright on the screen, but he didn’t press the button.

  He needed to keep control. He needed to remember what he’d told Ian. Remember that this was for her own good, just as it had been in the lunging ring, when she’d fallen and he’d rubbed her shoulder. When she’d pressed back against him with her lips parted, and the sight of her trembling mouth had threatened his carefully constructed resolve.

  Friends, that’s all. Yet the thought of her with Ben ate and ate and ate.

  At midnight, drunk on red wine and his gnawing, ravenous jealousy, he crumbled and called her mobile number, closing his eyes as he heard her sleepy hello. He didn’t reply, intent on listening, needing to know if she was with Ben.

  Through the earpiece came the shuffle of sheets, the phone moving then an intake of breath.

  ‘Aaron?’ She sounded more awake. ‘Aaron, what’s wrong? Are you okay?’

  ‘I saw you with Ben.’

  ‘I thought you didn’t care about him.’

  He wanted to say he didn’t but it’d only be a lie. He rubbed his hand over his face. His head swam with alcohol and longing. Why had he called her? It was stupid and selfish. He couldn’t think straight. And he ached.

  Christ, he ached.

  ‘Aaron, can I come over?’

  He almost groaned with his need to say yes. ‘That’s not a good idea.’

  ‘We can talk.’

  ‘There’s nothing to talk about.’ Except this burning, pointless jealousy he’d brought on himself.

  ‘There’s plenty.’

  He gripped the phone, knowing he should hang up, unable to.

  The quiet stretched. He could hear her shallow breaths as she waited for him to speak. Delicate little Sophie breaths like the ones she’d panted on his lips in the feed room in that magic, doomed moment so long ago. Breaths he couldn’t stop dreaming about.

  Breaths he wanted to suck into his lungs and never breathe out.

  ‘Did you kiss him?’ The words were out
before he could catch them and bury them back in his aching heart where they belonged.

  ‘Aaron, please.’ She sounded upset.

  ‘Did you?’

  Her reply came very soft. ‘Yes.’

  He pressed his palm hard against his right eye, wanting to cry with sorrow and pain. She’d kissed him. Shared what should have been his, experienced a pleasure that he should have given.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Aaron, don’t.’

  ‘Why, Sophie?’

  He could hear her tears as she spoke.

  ‘Because I wanted to pretend it was you.’ She let out a sob that twisted his heart. ‘You have to understand, it’s been years. I can’t even remember what it was like to have someone touch me.’

  He closed his eyes.

  ‘Aaron?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’m coming over.’

  ‘Sophie, don’t.’ But she’d hung up.

  He stood, intending to lock the kitchen door to prevent her coming in, but instead he flopped back onto the sofa and put his head in his hands. He had to resist. He had to remember who she was.

  Because I wanted to pretend it was you.

  Her words had sent his sludge-filled blood racing.

  But she would have to go on pretending, because it would never be him. No matter how much he wanted it. He was a horse doper and destroyer of lives. And that could never be pretended away.

  Or forgiven.

  After a few minutes, he managed to pull himself together enough to make it to the kitchen. The kettle had only just gone on the hob when he heard her Range Rover. He stood shivering by the combustion stove, waiting. Wanting her desperately while praying for strength he wasn’t sure he had.

  The door opened and shut. He looked up. Sophie stood with her back against the door in work boots and baggy, striped flannelette pyjamas, her hair flat on one side and tangled in knots on the other. She looked utterly adorable. He turned away.

  ‘You shouldn’t have come.’

  He heard her cross the room. A warm hand slipped into his cold one.

  ‘I had to.’

  He gazed at her shyly smiling face and grey eyes filled with something he wished wasn’t there, and broke. His arms went around her, wrapping her to him and as he marvelled in the feel of her soft, pliant body against his. Although his face was buried in the hollow of her neck and he was inhaling her like a drug, he made sure he didn’t let his lips touch her skin. He simply felt her, and grew warm on her tender touch.

  He let her go. She stared up at him with glistening eyes, her lips parted and moist in expectation. So infinitely, sweetly kissable. He looked away, then took an oven mitt and wrapped it around the kettle’s handle and removed it from the hottest hob to the back of the stove.

  ‘You want a cup of tea?’

  ‘Only if you’re having one.’

  He stared at the kettle. He didn’t want tea. He wanted to take Sophie to bed. He wanted to lay her naked on the sheet and nestle his head against her chest while listening to every precious breath she took and every exquisite beat of her huge, beautiful heart. And then he’d sleep and dream of a parallel universe where the ugly past had never existed. A place where she’d always be safe and happy and cherished.

  A place where he could tell her he loved her.

  With his jaw clenched, he grabbed mugs from the cupboard, spooned sugar into them and dropped a teabag in each. Sophie watched him in silence, waiting for him to crack and kiss her. But he wouldn’t. Not tonight. Not ever.

  He poured water into the mugs and carried them to the kitchen table. He sat down, reached for the biscuit tin and wrenched off the lid, waiting for her to join him.

  She didn’t. From behind, her hand touched his neck, her fingers as light and fluttery as butterfly wings as they brushed across his skin and under his ear, then traced a line to his mouth.

  ‘Sophie.’

  ‘Shh.’

  Her lips were on his neck, planting delicate, feathery kisses across his skin. His flesh broke out in goosebumps and his penis hardened as her tongue twirled lightly down the nape of his neck. Christ, he wanted her. Right there in the kitchen. Except he wouldn’t do what she wanted. Not straightaway. He’d make love to her but he had a thousand kisses to bestow on her first, a thousand tiny pleasures to grant before that happened.

  Her hand slipped down his front, reaching for the buttons of his shirt. He grabbed it.

  ‘Don’t.’

  She responded by kissing her way up his neck and sucking on his earlobe. She had to stop. He had to make her stop before he ruined her with his despicable past.

  Abruptly, he stood, bumping the table so the mugs slopped tea. He turned around to face her, the chair between them.

  ‘I can’t do this,’ he said.

  ‘But you want to.’

  He swallowed and looked toward the window at the darkness that enveloped what was once his mother’s garden.

  If they followed this path, if he gave into her, the past would never stay hidden. Now, more than ever, he couldn’t risk its exposure. He had to protect her from the horror it would bring. The reality of knowing he’d hurled accusations in Fiona Dixon’s face like acid and then walked away, cloaked in her hope and comfort, while she was left with nothing but despair and a life drained of its future.

  He closed his eyes. The room swam. ‘Go home, Sophie.’

  ‘No. I want to stay. With you.’

  She tried to tuck her hand in his. He yanked it away, angry with her, but even more furious with himself. ‘You don’t. And you know why you don’t? Because when you find out what I did, you won’t be able to scrub hard enough to clean yourself of me, that’s why.’ He grabbed her face and stared into it, trying to make her understand. ‘I don’t want to do that to you, Soph. I don’t want to hurt you any more than I already have.’

  ‘Nothing can be that bad, Aaron. Nothing.’

  But it was.

  He dropped his hands and retreated to the other side of the table, out of harm’s way. ‘Please, you have to leave.’

  She looked at him for a long time, hurt swimming through her wide eyes. Finally, she sighed. ‘Fine. If that’s what you want, I’ll leave.’

  Her boots thudded dully as she walked to the door. Cold air swirled into the kitchen as she held it open. His throat felt like it was seared shut with regret. Then she turned around and smiled so gently it filled his chest to bursting.

  ‘One day you’ll see that the past no longer matters. That no matter what you’ve done, I’ll still love you. I’m strong enough to face anything, Aaron. Even your demons.’

  It was what she believed, but he knew she was wrong.

  Eighteen

  On Sunday, after lunch, Sophie wandered up the track toward Tess’s cottage, Sammy and Del trailing along, her mind on Aaron. He’d called that morning to apologise, his voice hoarse but quiet, his embarrassment palpable. He’d told her it would never happen again, but she wondered who he was trying to convince. It would happen again, and it would keep happening until he gave in to his feelings and acknowledged the bond between them.

  Why did he believe she’d stop loving him? He wasn’t a bank robber or murderer or child molester. He wasn’t cruel or indifferent, or a drug addict or alcoholic. He was simply Aaron, the man she loved. The man who made her insides flip-flop with a single crinkly blue-eyed smile. Who shot excitement buzzing through her veins with a touch of his hand. Who looked at her with pride and faith and longing. And who sometimes, in unguarded moments like last night, allowed his true feelings to show, and then scared himself with how big they were.

  She sighed, earning curious looks from the heelers.

  ‘Can’t help it,’ she said to them apologetically, ‘I’m in love.’ But they were already off chasing trails in the grass, tails wagging.

  Ben had also called, asking her if she’d slept well, teasing her that she probably would have slept even better if he’d been allowed to stay. Her stomach had curled and twisted
as she tried to find the words to tell him he was wasting his time with her. Nothing sounded right, and then to her frustration, he’d hung up before she could explain.

  Her aunt was watching the Sunday football when Sophie knocked and then, as there was no answer, walked in. Tess lay on her recliner, a glass of red wine dangling from the fingers of one hand.

  ‘You’re killing yourself. You know that, don’t you?’ said Sophie, standing in the doorway. Despite Sophie’s clean-up, Tess had quickly returned to her slovenly ways and the cottage was a mess.

  ‘Maybe that’s the point.’

  Sophie crossed the room and removed an empty bottle from what was once a pretty, pink chintz sofa, and sat down.

  ‘Tess, I know what you’re going through. I’ve been there.’

  Tess didn’t take her eyes off the television. ‘You know nothing about nothing.’

  She sighed. ‘You need help. Antidepressants. Rehab.’

  ‘What I need is to get off this miserable place and away from you.’

  ‘I am not your enemy!’ She took two long breaths, straining to keep herself under control. ‘I want to help. I’ll talk to Dad. Get you an appointment with Dr Charlton.’

  Tess pointed a finger at her. It shook. ‘Don’t you dare tell your father. Don’t you dare.’

  Sophie raised her hands in defeat, then stood and went to the kitchen. She wasn’t a psychologist or a doctor. She didn’t know what was best for Tess except that her aunt was right. Tess needed to get the hell away from Vanaheim and the memories it held.

  Sophie picked a glass out of the myriad piled in the sink and carried it back into the lounge. Picking up the half-drunk bottle at Tess’s feet, she poured herself half a glass, paused, then filled it to the brim.

  Tess narrowed her eyes at her. ‘What do you want, anyway?’

  Sophie sat down, took a mouthful of wine and leaned back with her eyes closed. ‘Believe it or not, I want your advice.’