Play Thing

by Nicola Marsh

  She’d be home. She always was. His dad had worked on the railway in Broken Hill; she’d tutored kids online. It had worked, until his dad had lost his job and ended up moping around the house.

  That was when things had turned really ugly and he’d been glad to finish high school the year after and escape.

  She must have heard the car because by the time he’d parked and got out she stood on the back step, waving at him.

  He didn’t deserve the huge smile that lit her face. He didn’t deserve anything bar a scathing lecture for being such a shitty son.

  His feet dragged, just as they used to, as he approached the back veranda. ‘Hey, Mum.’

  Her smile widened. ‘This is a nice surprise.’

  In the few seconds before she enveloped him in a hug, he noticed several things. Her greying hair had been coloured a natural-looking blonde that softened her face. She wore make-up. And the perpetual frown lines that resided between her brows had eased.

  His mum looked younger than the last time he’d seen her two years ago. The last time he’d flown her to Brisbane for three days, part of his obligatory son duties. She’d sensed his heart wasn’t in it, like the other times he’d made the hollow gesture and she’d returned home after one night. He didn’t blame her. He’d felt nothing but relief.

  She’d mentioned a new man in her life back then, a new pub owner in town. He hadn’t wanted to know the details but had wished her well. If anyone deserved happiness after the shit she’d put up with over the years because of his dad, she did.

  When she wrapped her arms around him and the faintest waft of cinnamon reached his nose, he had a sudden urge to bawl. He clung to her, his intention to keep their reunion brief lost amid a wave of emotion he could almost label regret.

  Why had he stayed away so long?

  When she released him, her eyes were damp. ‘Come in and I’ll make you a cuppa.’

  He had a hankering for something a lot stronger but tea would do for now. As he stepped inside, he was catapulted back in time. He remembered entering this kitchen every day after school, ravenous for his mum’s delicious baking but eager to escape to avoid the inevitable awkwardness between his folks after his father lost his job. He’d cram choc-chip cookies in his mouth, snaffle a few for later, drink half a carton of milk, then bolt for his room on the pretext of homework. He’d keep his ears plugged to drown out potential arguments. Would listen to music half the night. Had done whatever it took to cope.

  ‘Are you going to stand there all day?’

  He blinked, to find himself still hovering in the doorway, and shook his head slightly to clear it. ‘Memories,’ he said, entering the kitchen and inhaling deeply. ‘Still smells amazing in here.’

  ‘That’s because I bake every day.’ She bustled around the kitchen, the familiarity of her movements making his throat clog so badly no amount of clearing would ease it. ‘Not for me, of course, but I donate baked goods to the church every week and they sell them.’

  Alex hated his first thought: why was she so altruistic now when she had barely been able to utter a civil word to his father all those years ago?

  ‘So what brings you by?’ She placed a cup of tea in front of him, along with a plate piled high with cookies, a slice of apple cake and a lamington. ‘Is something wrong?’

  Of course she’d jump to that conclusion. He never came home.

  ‘Everything’s fine, Mum.’ Her baking smelled divine but he lost his appetite as he realised he’d have to give her some semblance of the truth to explain his unexpected arrival. ‘But I realised I’ve been avoiding this place for a long time now...and I wanted to see you,’ he belatedly added, feeling like a bastard when her face fell.

  ‘Well, whatever your reasons, I’m glad you’re here.’ She sat opposite and sipped her tea, wariness in her gaze as she studied him. ‘It’s been too long.’

  Her subtle chastisement hung between them and he searched for the right words to make her understand why he’d stayed away. Bitterness, resentment and a long-festering indignation burned in his gut, making him feel slightly sick.

  ‘Why did you stay, Mum?’

  He blurted the question, unable to remain silent a moment longer. He wanted to ask her so much about the past but knew it would be futile. What was the point of dredging up rotten memories that would only serve to drag them both down?

  But he had to know the answer to this one question. Had to know why she’d chosen to stay when he couldn’t wait to get away.

  ‘Because this is my home,’ she said, with a shrug. She stared into her tea, unable to meet his gaze, her mouth downturned. ‘I loved it. I always loved it, even when your father was around and trying his best to make me hate it.’

  She lifted her head to eyeball him, her stare surprisingly defiant. ‘I stay here because it reminds me of how much I tolerated and how far I’ve come.’ She tapped her chest. ‘I’m proud of being a fighter, not a quitter.’

  Like you.

  Though she didn’t say it, he saw the accusation in her eyes and it served like a kick in the guts.

  ‘I didn’t quit, Mum. I chose to walk away from a place that held nothing but bad memories.’ He gestured around the kitchen. ‘You chose to stay for your reasons, I chose to leave for mine, so don’t make me feel bad because of it.’

  She deflated a little. ‘I’m not trying to make you feel bad.’ She shook her head, tendrils that had escaped her ponytail clinging to her face. ‘I just can’t understand why you stayed away so long, why you didn’t come back to see me.’

  Her voice rose and ended on a squeak she quickly covered with a cough. ‘I’m not laying a guilt trip on you. I appreciated those plane tickets you bought me over the years so we could catch up in the city. But I guess I just really want to know why you’ve returned now.’ She held up her hand before he could respond. ‘And don’t give me some cock and bull story about wanting to see me, because if you’d wanted to do that you would’ve visited any time over the last two years since I last saw you.’

  Suitably chastised, and fast running out of excuses, he folded his arms and compressed his lips into a mutinous line.

  She guffawed, a loud bark of laughter he’d rarely heard from his mother growing up. ‘Your father used to get the same stubborn expression when I asked him a question he didn’t want to answer.’

  Alex didn’t want to revisit the past but his mum had given him the perfect opening and he took it. ‘Did Dad kill himself?’

  Shadows descended over his mum’s eyes, blanketing the earlier defiance. But he had to know. His original intention to come here, to remind himself why he could never lead a staid life stuck in one place too long, had been briefly superseded by his thirst for the truth. Growing up in this household, stifled by moroseness, hadn’t been healthy. Getting answers could be nothing but cathartic.

  ‘I can’t say for certain but from his mind-set in the days leading up to his death, yes, I think he committed suicide.’

  How could his mum sound so stoic? As if she were chatting about their pet dog that had accidentally drowned in the dam years before his dad.

  ‘What was different about those days before he died?’

  Alex couldn’t let it go, no matter how much he feared the answers.

  ‘Your father suffered from depression, as you know—’

  ‘Actually, Mum, I didn’t know, because both of you pussyfooted around the issue in front of me. You stomped around here with a stern face and Dad slunk around like he was scared of his own shadow. I frigging hated it!’

  His mum blanched, staring at him with hollow eyes, devastation etched into every line on her face, as if he were a stranger. Which technically, he was. In staying away all these years for his own peace of mind, he hadn’t stopped once to think how it had affected hers. She’d always sounded so calm during their chats on the phone, cool to the point of deta
chment when she came to the city, like she didn’t care whether she had a son or not.

  But maybe she’d done the same as him, withdrawn, removing herself from the situation emotionally rather than physically.

  ‘I didn’t want you to bear the brunt of it like I did,’ she said, so softly her voice quavered. ‘I tried to hide so much of his behaviour from you.’

  A sliver of foreboding pierced his resolve to know the truth. ‘What behaviour?’

  She sighed, her shoulders slumping as she hugged her middle. ‘Your father always had depression. I knew it when I married him and in a way that quiet staidness about him drew me in. He always medicated to stay on top of it, but after he lost his job on the railway and was home all the time he cut back. Said the meds were affecting his taste and sight and other aspects of his life.’ She blushed and Alex really didn’t want to go there. ‘The fewer meds he took, the more unstable he became. Moody. Argumentative. Angry for no reason...’

  She gritted her teeth and half turned away, but not before he glimpsed hardships he never knew had existed. Regret that he hadn’t known mingled with anger at his obtuseness, clawing at his gut until he felt as if he were being ripped apart from the inside out.

  He didn’t want to know how bad it had been but he’d started this, he couldn’t back down from the truth now.

  ‘Did he ever hit you?’

  His fingers unconsciously curled into fists beneath the table at the thought of his mum possibly enduring physical abuse when he’d had no bloody clue.

  She bit her bottom lip, as if she’d already said too much. ‘No. But the senseless arguments were hard to take at times.’ Her tremulous voice broke his heart but before he could offer useless comfort, her head came up, her defiance admirable. ‘I hated your father at times for the way he treated me, but I loved him too. It’s why I stayed and told him in no uncertain terms that if he didn’t get back on his meds and see a counsellor, I’d kill him myself.’

  Shell-shocked, Alex dragged in several deep breaths. It did little to quell the sickening churning of his gut. ‘I had no idea.’

  ‘Exactly how I wanted it.’ Some of the tension holding her shoulders rigid eased. ‘Our marriage wasn’t pretty and I’m sorry you were privy to most of it. I tried to hide my bitterness but it spilled out sometimes and your father saw it. Those were the days I wondered if my loyalty and love were misplaced...’ She shook her head. ‘But I’m a fighter. I stuck around to help him and because I stick by my vows.’ She smiled at him. ‘You were another very valid reason to stick around. I wanted to give you the home life I never had.’

  Fuck, this was crazy. He knew his mum had been a foster kid but to stay in a dead-end marriage with a depressed man because of him? Like he needed any more guilt.

  ‘You shouldn’t have put up with him for me.’

  Damn, he sounded ungrateful, but she didn’t bristle as he expected.

  ‘You don’t understand because you don’t have a child. When you do, you’ll get it.’ She placed a hand over her heart. ‘What you feel in here? You’ll do anything for your child.’

  ‘And I repay you by escaping and never looking back.’ He scowled, hating the guilt seeping into every cell of his body. He’d been a selfish bastard, so hell-bent on running from his past he hadn’t stopped to think what it would be like for those left behind, particularly his mother. ‘I’m sorry, Mum. For everything.’

  He huffed out a long breath. He’d come this far, he had to tell her the rest. ‘I blamed myself for Dad’s death for a long time, figuring if I’d made more of an effort to be the son he wanted while I was here that he would’ve been happier. And later, after I left, that I should’ve visited more often.’

  Her hand trembled as she briefly touched his cheek. ‘Your father had a mental illness. We both did as much as we could, so never blame yourself for a decision that was ultimately his to make.’

  She smiled and it chased away the darkness of memories shrouding her. He remembered those rare smiles, when she’d look at him with pride and love, like she couldn’t quite believe he was hers. He’d loved those smiles. Those brief fragments in time when he could pretend his mum was happy and, in turn, he was too.

  She’d done it all out of loyalty. To her marriage, to his father and to him.

  He couldn’t fathom that depth of caring for another person, maybe he never would.

  If having a partner and child meant sacrificing a part of his soul, he wanted no part of it.

  Her hand steadied as it cupped his cheek. ‘You’re a good boy. Always were, even if you have a funny way of showing it.’

  He wanted to promise he’d visit more often. That he wouldn’t be an absentee son any more. But he didn’t intend to make promises he couldn’t keep, despite the best intentions, so he settled for divulging the truth considering she’d done him the same courtesy.

  ‘I came home because I met someone and she wants this kind of life.’ He screwed up his nose and gestured at the kitchen. ‘She wants the house and the garden and the mind-numbing stability. And I needed a reminder of why I’d run away from all that and why I can’t share any of that with her.’

  His mum tilted her head to one side, studying him with an intensity that unnerved. ‘She wants all that other stuff, but does she want you?’

  That was the kicker.

  He didn’t know.

  He’d presumed to think she wanted him as part of her happily-ever-after scenario but what if he’d misread the situation? What if she really was happy with a short-term fling, getting all the raunchy stuff out of her system before settling down with some sedate bloke who’d give her the long-term security she craved?

  God, he’d been a fool.

  And the worst part was, now that he’d come home and talked to his mum, sitting in this kitchen that calmed rather than antagonised, remembering good times more than bad, he realised that having a place to put down roots mightn’t be such a bad thing after all.

  The thought of being stuck in one place, with one woman, terrified him. The fear of their relationship growing stale, the fear of growing complacent, the fear of drifting apart. His worst frigging nightmare come to life.

  It had happened to his folks but now he knew the truth. His father’s problems had been organic, stemming from a mental illness, and his mother had stayed by choice. Sure, she’d done it out of love—for him and his father—but to tolerate that kind of a marriage seemed like a massive sacrifice.

  Alex didn’t have it in him to be so giving. To fall in with another’s life plan when he had his own.

  But what happened if he kept drifting, until he woke up one day and realised he’d given up a wonderful woman for a life of...nothing?

  His mum hadn’t run when the going got tough. Maybe spending his whole life running away from possible heartache wasn’t the answer for him either?

  ‘I think the expression on your face says it all.’ His mum laid her hand on the table, palm up and he didn’t hesitate to place his hand in hers. ‘Sounds like you’ve faced a few of your fears in coming back here. Why not go all the way and take a chance on love?’

  Alex squeezed her hand, unable to find the words to respond.

  He didn’t love.

  He couldn’t.

  But what if he already did?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  YESTERDAY, CHARLOTTE HAD thought it kind of sweet that Alex had been so considerate and given her the day off.

  Last night, she’d waited for his call. Or a text. Or something. When she hadn’t heard from him, she’d assumed his sweetness extended to being solicitous about her fatigue and leaving her alone to have an early night. Then she’d turned up at work this morning to discover he’d taken two days off, without leaving a word of his whereabouts.

  Not so sweet after all.

  It shouldn’t bother her because technically they weren’t in a commit
ted relationship and he didn’t need to check in with her regarding his whereabouts. But it did. Which proved how involved she really was despite all her assertions to the contrary.

  Only one way to get him out of her head: focus on work.

  She’d hardly been in the office for thirty minutes and all the talk centred around promotions. Her co-workers insisted she was a shoo-in for the new managerial role and while she feigned bashfulness she knew deep down they were right.

  She’d completed every task Alex had set her before he’d arrived in Sydney. She’d gone the extra yard for clients. She’d gone above and beyond in all aspects of new case files.

  She deserved this promotion.

  If he announced it when he got back she wouldn’t hesitate to make a deposit on her house. She could hardly wait.

  ‘Where’s the Proudman file?’ she called out to the receptionist when she couldn’t find it on her desk.

  ‘Alex was working on it before he left.’ The receptionist jerked her thumb towards his office. ‘It’s probably still on his desk.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Charlotte breezed into Alex’s office like it was the most natural thing in the world when every time she set foot in here her heart started pounding and bucking like a wild thing.

  That desk...

  Even after he left she’d never be able to look at it without blushing. Never in her wildest dreams had she thought she could be the type of woman who had sex on a desk, let alone at her workplace. But she’d gone kind of crazy the moment she’d met Alex and the insanity hadn’t let up since.

  She hated contemplating the end of their fling but it had served its purpose. Being awakened sexually, feeling confident in her own skin when it came to men, would ensure she could socialise and date without gaucheness. After all, she’d have the house soon enough, a solid, dependable man had to follow.

  When she found herself inadvertently running her hands over the desk she shook her head to clear her musings and started searching for the Proudman file. Alex must have left in a hurry because files were stacked on top of documents in disarray, with seemingly no order to any of it.