‘He’s not fake, like a lot of people are. He tells it how it is. And you may not notice, but he’s kind too. He’s given me a lot of good advice.’
Something between jealousy and chagrin bit her. ‘Zara, you haven’t told him about . . .?’ She couldn’t say it but, by her sister’s horrified expression, she seemed to guess what she was referring to anyway.
‘No, of course not! I just . . .’ She didn’t finish.
‘What?’ Charlotte squeezed her hand. ‘You can tell me.’
Zara bit her lip and looked down. ‘I’m scared, Charlotte.’
‘Oh honey.’ Charlotte immediately threw her arms around her and pulled her close. ‘I know you are. But there’s no need to be. Luke and I will protect you and love you, like we always have.’
‘No,’ Zara pushed back, ‘you don’t understand. I’ve done something really stupid and you’re not going to like it.’
Charlotte pulled away, dread raising goosebumps on her skin. ‘What? What have you done?’
Zara sucked in a breath. ‘When you said I couldn’t go to Rosemary’s party, I was so angry. I wrote to him, to my father, explaining who I was and telling him that I wanted to see him. Mum accidently mentioned his name that night. You know, Dennis Mayer. So I put that name on the front and posted copies of the letter to all the prisons in Queensland. I didn’t know then . . . what he’d done. I was just hurt and angry and I wanted to do something.’
Charlotte bit down hard on her lower lip and tasted blood. Pain shot straight to her temple. She shut her eyes and threw back her head. No. The mere thought of her sister having any sort of contact with that man was horrifying. Unthinkable. Her fingers trembled as she clasped them tightly together.
‘You’re angry,’ Zara stated.
What was the point in being angry when the damage was done? Panic on the other hand was perfectly reasonable. Her chest tightened as she struggled for breath. ‘Did he write back? Have you received a reply?’
‘No, nothing.’
She shuddered. ‘Well, that at least is something.’
Zara began to cry. ‘What do you think is going to happen now?’
‘I don’t know.’ Charlotte reached for her again and squeezed tight. ‘But I’m not going to be a sitting duck when it does.’
After dropping off Charlotte Templeton’s employment contract to show that their little trip to Inappropriate Park had not fazed him, Mark Crawford went home in a mood that would have sent the devil ducking for cover.
To date, Charlotte Templeton had been a thorn in his side or an annoying fly that he couldn’t seem to swat away. She had been irritating but he could deal with it.
Today was different.
Today she’d cut too deep. When she’d been swept off by that current, every drop of the grief and terror he had felt when he lost his brother had returned full force.
He knew he shouldn’t have gone diving. Number six on that damned list! He was a fool to continue following the wishes of his dead wife, who due to the fact that she was dead no longer had any real perspective. Water sports were something he had shared with his twin and only with his twin. When that shark had taken Simon, he’d let it all go.
Forever.
Or so he thought. Even his love of diving, which back in the day had been his favourite pastime, had not tempted him to return. Naively, when he saw Kathryn’s stipulation on the list, he thought he’d ease in slowly. Take a lesson or two. After all, it had been at least six years since he’d been underwater. He figured he’d get away from site for the day to a place where nobody knew him. Think about something else other than the project.
He didn’t realise that the something else was going to be Charlotte Templeton.
Lips as soft as cream, with a taste just as delectable.
He wanted to groan in agony at the memory.
Kissing her had been a paradox, a kind of orgasmic pain within which a sandstorm of feelings had welled. Even now the grains had still not settled.
Longing, need, desire, frustration . . . guilt.
Guilt.
That was the main one.
He didn’t understand how his respect for Kathryn could be so completely compromised. He knew that he would always love his late wife. She had brought so much to his life, and when she had died a part of him had gone with her. So how could he think about another woman in this way? It seemed unfathomable and yet such a relief.
What do I do?
What do I do?
For the first time in his life, he had absolutely no idea. He took out the list from his pocket. The folded bit of paper he now regarded as his link to Kathryn was rather worn looking. The creases were so etched it was impossible to fold it back another way. He had read the damn thing so many times that he already knew what the next item was. But he wanted to see the words in Kathryn’s handwriting. Savour them. Worry about them.
Visit an old friend.
The prospect of contacting people from his past, none of whom he’d spoken to for over two years, was scary. Who was he kidding? It was terrifying. He had retreated too far into himself. Closed every door. Locked every window and ignored the knocking, which in any case had stopped ages back. In fact, he’d pushed people away so firmly that he was not sure they would be want to be welcomed back into his life. They would probably enjoy shunning him as he had shunned them when they’d tried to reach out.
All the same, making contact with his past actually seemed less dangerous than trying to sort out his feelings for Charlotte. And if he were truly honest, there was one friend he had left in Perth who he often thought about.
Kathryn’s brother, Bill.
Their friendship pre-dated Mark even knowing Kathryn. They had met because they worked for the same company. They had liked each other due to their similar senses of humour. Until Kathryn had died, of course. Then Mark had grown more darkly cynical about everything.
Bill had been the first person he’d cut after Kathryn died. He hadn’t been able to look the man in the face without seeing his wife – they had similar features. Now, when he thought of Bill, a sadness welled in his heart. At the very least, he would like an opportunity to apologise.
Perhaps a trip to Perth was in order. It wasn’t like he didn’t have a copious quantity of R and R saved up. Besides, he needed to get away – pull himself together after what had happened on the pontoon.
Ann booked his flight for ten the next morning. He went into the office early to sort out management while he was gone. He chose Fish to run the show in his stead. He may not be the cleanest or most sweetly spoken individual but he had more experience on open sea wharves than anyone on the job, even Mark himself. He had known the man a long time and seen him in action on several jobs, which was why he’d accepted him on his own project even after he heard he’d been fired from the last one. All Fish needed was a clear pathway. It was choice that led him into trouble. With this in mind, Mark gave him a very detailed list of instructions. He also left Ann and Zara with a note about care for Augustus. They could sort out a bird sitting roster between them when he was gone.
Having sorted out management, Mark then drove to Mackay to catch his plane. Forty minutes in the car, alone with his thoughts, it was very hard not to think about the fact that Charlotte would be starting work that day and he would not be there to receive her.
Never mind.
He’d left that job to Will. Boy Scout was sure to make her feel welcome. The two of them seemed to get on really well. His brow crinkled. Though not too well he hoped. William was a nice enough young man, too nice on most occasions, but Mark had not previously considered him any sort of distraction to his female staff. Unfortunately, the boy seemed to have cleaned up his appearance recently. He’d seen the way Ann had stumbled over her feet when he’d walked in that morning and the way little Ms Emily had glared at her as though she was eating out of her plate. He sincerely hoped Charlotte wasn’t going to be affected by a messy haircut, crude shave and a lack of glasses.
/> As he realised where his mind was wandering he reined it back in but it didn’t behave for long. The simple truth was, he was going to have to do something about Charlotte Templeton. And he had better decide soon, if not immediately, what that was.
He whiled away the flight to Perth watching movies and dreading his return home. Walking through the front door was going to be the hardest thing he’d done in a while. It had been months since he’d checked on the place.
Surprisingly this time, his arrival was different.
Yes, when he first stood on the threshold gazing across what had been their main living area, that familiar overwhelming sadness rolled through him. But then as his eyes adjusted more fully to the room, a new sense of purpose began to form. Her favourite throw blanket was still strewn across the back of the couch, her magazines on his coffee table, her favourite photo of them on the wall. The wall they’d painted together. He could see a thick film of dust on all the wooden surfaces. The place no longer smelled of her. It smelled musty and unkempt. For the first time in the years since Kathryn’s death, he thought, I need to clean this place up.
Before he lost the urge, he dropped his suitcase at the door and went to the laundry to fill a bucket with cleaning products. For the next three hours, he dusted, he vacuumed, he wiped, he mopped. And it felt great.
He got a box and collected all Kathryn’s things. Her blanket, her magazines, the winter slippers that were still strewn under her side of the bed, almost completely grey with dust. There were even some old tablets and other medical paraphernalia lying about, which he threw roughly into a bin bag. He took her books off the shelf and her handbag from the hall table. He tried not to look at anything too closely so that memories wouldn’t have a chance to crowd in. Soon there was a giant pile of her stuff by the door and he collapsed on the couch feeling partially sated.
He looked around at the place. It looked sparse but much less depressing. Certainly a place he could relax rather than stew in. After a long hot shower he fell onto his freshly made bed, straight into a deep sleep, unfettered by dreams.
The following morning he rose feeling much rejuvenated but at the same time unsettled. He lay in bed staring at Kathryn’s list trying to work out how to approach her task.
Should he call first or just show up on Bill’s doorstep?
The problem with calling was that he might be told not to come. After all, he couldn’t blame the guy for not wanting to see him after he’d ignored him for two years. But now that he’d made the decision, he simply could not, not go. Even if he was rejected.
In procrastination, his eyes flicked to the next few items on Kathryn’s list.
8. Give my stuff to the Salvos.
9. Buy some new clothes, especially underwear.
10. Read a book.
Perhaps while he formulated a plan he could tick a few other items off. He’d already half started on number eight. With renewed energy, he jumped out of bed and went into the wardrobe. This time her smell did hit him like a slap in the face and he felt tears smart in his eyes. But he grabbed the clothes, hangers and all, and threw them on the bed. When the wardrobe had been cleaned out he transferred the pile into garbage bags, not bothering to sort too carefully. He didn’t want to look at the dress he’d met her in. Or the chef uniforms she’d worn to work. Or, God forbid, her wedding dress.
He stuffed it out of sight and put it next to the door with the rest of her stuff.
There were some things he did keep, like her jewellery and photo albums. But he found a large box for these too and put them right at the back of the wardrobe to look at later. Much later.
After a quick shower, he loaded up his car and drove to the nearest Salvos store. A few minutes later the deed was done and he felt no pang. In fact, he noted en route to a department store, he felt nothing at all, except a strange stoic emptiness.
Shopping seemed like a good way to fill the void, though he barely registered what he purchased. A few shirts, a few pants and a stack of underwear. Yes, Kathryn had been right in her forward thinking. Shopping was so tedious and his tolerance for it so low that his current stash was full of holes.
Last stop was the library to find a book. This proved more difficult than he had first supposed. He had once enjoyed reading and read widely all different types of fiction and non-fiction. He barely had time for it these days, though. He worked such long hours that by the time he got home, had a meal and watched an hour of television, he just wanted to sleep and often did. Now faced with such variety he had no idea what he felt like. He ended up borrowing about six books with still no clear plan of which one he was going to attempt first.
As he returned to his car, books in hand, he realised that there was nothing left to do but make the visit he’d been dreading. All the same, he waited until after five. Bill could still be at work. It was a Tuesday after all.
At six o’clock, he was standing uncertainly on his brother-in-law’s doorstep. Before he lost his nerve he knocked. The door swung open and an extremely large man with Kathryn’s big brown eyes stared at him, dumbstruck. Eventually the man managed to croak, ‘Mark! What the hell?’
He was equally affected. This man looked nothing like the one whose phone messages he’d stopped returning two years earlier. Bill had always been a large man but now he was the size of a house and there were streaks of grey in his hair. He’d aged prematurely.
‘Bill! What happened to you?’
‘What happened to me?’ Bill repeated. ‘What happened to you?’
He supposed this was a valid question and scratched his head looking for the right words. As his brother-in-law watched him with raised eyebrows, he knew there wasn’t any point in beating around the bush so he went with the truth. ‘I’m sorry. I just needed to be alone.’
‘For two years?’ Bill snorted. ‘Pretty long time to sulk, if you ask me. I’m sorry you were having a hard time, Mark, but so was everyone else.’
‘I know, Bill, but –’
‘They call me Chub now,’ said his brother-in-law.
Chub? He could see why. He was twice the size of the man he’d known. He couldn’t help but repeat his earlier question. ‘What happened?’ Was this how Bill had dealt with Kathryn’s death? Comfort food?
Bill looked at him slyly. ‘Do I look different to you?’
Mark cleared his throat. ‘Yes.’
Bill snorted. ‘I had a hair cut.’
He then turned away from the open door and walked into the house. ‘I guess you might as well come in.’
Uncertainly, Mark stepped over the threshold. Bill, or Chub, had already disappeared down the hall connecting to the kitchen. When Mark entered this space, it was to be met with a very welcome array of smells. A round table near the door was laden with a variety of platters. Scones, cupcakes, freshly baked biscuits, mini quiches, sausage rolls and slices both sweet and savoury.
‘Are you expecting company, Bill?’
His friend looked up innocently. ‘No, why do you ask?’
Mark cleared his throat as he searched for a point of reference.
Bill chuckled and his whole body seemed to wobble in amusement. ‘Just kidding, Mark. And call me Chub, by the way. It’s been too long since anyone called me Bill. I’m not used to it any more.’
‘All right, Chub.’ Mark straightened, determined to make an effort.
Chub grinned. ‘Still take yourself way too seriously, I see. Have a scone, it’ll make you feel better.’
Mark frowned. ‘Does it make you feel better?’
‘It’s a bit too late to worry about me, Mark.’ Chub’s jovial expression disappeared. Just for a second he did look incredibly sad. ‘I will admit, food does give me comfort. And, you know, Kath. Food was her thing. Every time I ate something delicious for one incredible bite I had her back. It was wonderful. But,’ he dusted his hands, ‘now I don’t eat for grief but for pleasure.’ He grabbed his belly like it was a trophy. ‘You’re actually very lucky to have caught me. A week ago I s
till would have been in Cape Lambert. Barnes Inc just moved me back to Perth.’
Mark nodded. ‘Is the project over?’
‘It’s getting there.’ Chub grinned. ‘You know how these things drag on. They’re definitely not hiring though, so a resident HR manager isn’t really warranted.’
‘I see.’
Just then a gorgeous-looking brunette entered the room. She was the embodiment of painted, polished and pampered. Dressed in a tight white top and floral skirt, her hair was a mass of coiffured curls piled on top of her head.
‘This is my girlfriend, Annabel,’ Chub offered by way of introduction and clearly enjoyed the way Mark did a double-take. ‘Annabel, my brother-in-law, Mark.’
She pouted, as only a woman of her physical appearance could. ‘Oh, I thought one of my girlfriends had got here early.’ She regarded Mark with a frown. ‘You can’t possibly be here for the Tupperware party.’
‘No,’ said Mark. ‘I won’t be staying long.’
Chub grabbed him by the arm and steered him towards the door again. ‘We’ll just go chat in the living room, sweetie,’ he said to Annabel, shoving Mark before him. Rather suspiciously, he also grabbed a plate of jam and cream scones just before he crossed the threshold.
‘Chub, we need that for the party,’ she called out after him.
‘Yes, I know. I’m just putting it on the coffee table,’ he threw over his shoulder.
‘Perhaps this is not a good time.’ Mark frowned as Chub waved him forward and then into another room halfway back down the hall. ‘Maybe I should go.’
Chub set the plate on the coffee table and shut the door. ‘And leave me entertaining ten giggling women? Not this week. Have a scone and tell me what the problem is.’
Mark sat down on the couch with a sigh, rubbing his hands uncomfortably across his lap to his knees. ‘What makes you think there’s a problem?’
‘I don’t see you for two years and then all of sudden you turn up on my doorstep without warning,’ he grunted. ‘There’s a problem.’
‘There’s no problem,’ Mark retorted. ‘I just wanted to reconnect.’
The Girl in the Yellow Vest Page 24