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The Day the Lies Began

Page 8

by Kylie Kaden


  Hannah’s eyes fell away. ‘I wanted to. It was just a hard time for me.’ Upon closer inspection her perfectly made-up face looked drawn, tired. Jetlag, or something more?

  Abbi tightened her jaw. ‘Too hard to even pick up the phone?’ She gulped her wine. The booth felt suffocating, the air sticky and thick. We should have stayed home with Netflix and a bottle of red, Eadie asleep on our laps.

  ‘I was a bad friend, I admit that. But I told myself you needed space to process your feelings. I know how it can get – exhausting, claustrophobic even, with a dozen quiche-bearing neighbours arriving on your doorstep, a pile of sympathy cards and head nods from strangers.’

  Abbi squinted at her. ‘At least those people tried to do something – to show I had a friend if I needed one.’

  ‘I wasn’t sure you still considered me a friend. Besides, I didn’t exactly have a healthy coping mechanism myself – endless cream donuts and a daily block of Cadbury.’ Hannah puffed out her cheeks and curled her arms in a circle like a sumo wrestler, but Abbi was too hurt to be amused.

  Will and Blake bounded back to the table, the jug they’d bought already half empty. Their shirts were dappled with damp spots from the rain gusting in from the side of the bar, and Abbi welcomed the change. ‘Started to get rained on out there – it’s bucketing down. Anyway, thought we’d give you ladies a chance to talk shoes,’ Blake said before taking in their brooding faces, both turned in opposite directions. Clearly, shoes were not on the agenda. He looked suspiciously at Abbi.

  Abbi sighed, the merlot making her head woolly. Things were still weird with him. He probably thinks I’ve blabbed. She glared back, as if to say, What?

  Hannah noticed the silent exchange between Abbi and Blake. Abbi could see it in the way Hannah’s perky lips squashed into a thin, cold line.

  Will scanned Abbi’s face, then raised his eyebrows. ‘Everything okay?’

  The two women adjusted their clothes, eyes darting, lips thin.

  ‘Abbi’s been a bit … sensitive today, haven’t you, hon?’ Will said. He patted her thigh under the table.

  Abbi glared at him.

  Blake raised an eyebrow at him. ‘Great bedside manner you got there, doc.’ He extended an arm over Hannah, rubbed her back and mumbled something supportive.

  Will took in their intimate exchange, and belatedly touched his wife on the arm like it was a couple-off. ‘Now you’re making me look bad.’

  Abbi shrugged him away. Will should have known she found that sort of doting patronising. He looked confused and she glared again, but reminded herself that her husband wasn’t insensitive, he just cut to the chase, never one to let any tension go undiscussed. It was so pathetically adult.

  Will squared his jaw and sipped the froth off his beer. The rain drumming on the tin roof was deafening, but Abbi found she could breathe again. A suicidal seagull flapped its way inside the restaurant across the high ceilings, detoured around the wide-blade fan and escaped into the kitchen, which erupted in raucous screams.

  ‘I know what you need.’ Blake went to pour Hannah a pot of beer from the jug.

  ‘Oh, is that low carb?’ Hannah asked, with a strong American ‘r’.

  Blake twisted his lip. ‘Low what?’

  Abbi resisted the urge to roll her eyes. The real Hannah had been starting to emerge just before, only to pixelate again now.

  ‘Diet beer,’ Will clarified. ‘For the health-conscious pisshead.’ He swallowed. ‘Ah. Just drink up, Hannah, doctor’s orders – you don’t seem like you need to be conscious of carb intake.’

  Hannah’s jaw dropped.

  Blake spat his beer, overspray raining on Abbi, who glared as he burst out laughing.

  Will just looked confused.

  Abbi was sure she’d mentioned to Will that Hannah once had a weight problem. That she’d tipped the scales at well over a hundred kilos at one point. Now it was the elephant in the room, as Hannah glowered at Blake who mouthed sorry and held out his palm.

  Will furrowed his brow, his dark eyes narrowing. ‘What did I miss?’

  Abbi felt the laughter threatening like a sneeze, building, inevitable. It took all she had to resist the urge. She knew what was brewing – Will’s fat-person rant.

  ‘Not like that guy who won the biggest loser last year – lost forty kilos like it makes him some sort of hero. I mean, I know losing weight’s hard.’ Will stretched one arm out, and patted his own slightly rounded stomach as if it represented evidence of the fact. ‘But how ’bout the poor bastards who managed to avoid morbid obesity in the first place? And don’t start me on the health costs. All about self-control, if you ask me. We’re a society of instant gratification …’

  Hannah’s shoulders shook, her lips thinned, silent laughter breaking free.

  ‘What’s so funny?’ Will surveyed the three of them.

  Hannah spoke first. She was the only one who could. ‘No one told you?’ She grabbed a serviette and dabbed the tears of laughter from her eyes. ‘All those heart-to-hearts with Blake about his horrible ex and he never once mentioned that I was once a big girl?’

  ‘Serious?’ Will looked at Abbi for guidance.

  ‘Yep,’ Hannah concurred. ‘Total lard arse.’ ‘Well you’ve certainly overcome that issue.’ Will cocked one eyebrow, and Abbi elbowed him hard.

  Blake’s eyes danced. A wall of awkwardness, years in the making, had fallen, but no one was game to walk through the gaping hole.

  ‘Nothing to be ashamed of, Hannah. You know, I had this patient who was so fat, when he went under anaesthetic he had to wake up in stages,’ Will said, deadpan.

  ‘Ha, ha,’ Hannah said, smiling with her pretty mouth.

  Abbi glanced over at Hannah, laughing, relaxed, as she flicked her shiny hair over her shoulder without a care in the world. Abbi tried to read Hannah’s mind, and found access to her friend’s thoughts was as easy as when they’d chatter between bunk beds at age twelve. With the honesty being served up over dinner, Hannah seemed to believe that the tone was set – an unspoken bro code for no bullshit within the squad. She thought the walls wedged between old friends had tumbled to rubble. Hannah would think of this as the night she cleared the air and set their derailed friendship back on track.

  Abbi swallowed hard. She could have told Hannah that her new sense of security was nothing but a trick. Hannah saw four friends walking, hand in hand, but in Abbi’s own muddy mind, she saw them scrambling to grip each other’s hands, balancing on an unsteady platform, floating on an ocean of secrets. There was no way of knowing for sure, but Abbi suspected that they were all about to be beaten by a wave only she was positioned to foresee.

  She looked out at the rain pummelling the window and closed her eyes. Her gut instinct had been right. Hannah was a problem.

  This woman has no idea what she’s walked in on.

  Chapter 8

  19 DAYS AFTER THE MOON FESTIVAL

  The torrential rain of the past few days had eased, allowing flooded roads to subside, gutters to sigh in relief and locals to spring hope of drying the week’s washing. With everyone tucked safely at home, day tours cancelled and sport fields closed, the town took on a kind of post-apocalyptic emptiness. Blake was in his element, flat-out watching Netflix most nights that week. But by the weekend, Hannah persuaded him to leave the house, socialise with the Adams family again. Having just moved away from the city that never sleeps, she wasn’t used to sitting at home … watching Blake sleep.

  Hannah couldn’t blame him for his reluctance after the intense night with Abbi and Will last weekend, and was disappointed when the most romantic idea he came up with was take- away on Abbi’s deck, but she felt they’d all connected, eventually, and she was intrigued to observe the life – and man – her oldest friend had chosen.

  Hannah considered the way Abbi had confronted her on so many sore points over dinner, how she’d made it all about her. Hannah had forgotten how, as Gail Jordan’s only biological child, Abbi had always controlled the
roost, but in such a subtle, well-meaning way that most were unaware of it. But she knew Abbi Jordan had always been the silent, smiling puppeteer, pulling the strings of those foster kids with a tilt of her head. And none was more willing to be guided than Blake.

  The Adams’ home, a trendy charcoal grey with white trims, was so different to the crowded house Hannah recalled spending summers in as a kid. Abbi had transformed it from a wind-battered, angular eyesore on the outskirts of town, teeming with a gaggle of wayward kids, to a family home full of character and quirks. Brimming with warm natural light, exposed beams and rustic floorboards, pastel throw pillows and hessian rugs, it had a coastal charm, stylish but unpretentious – not unlike Abbi herself. Throughout, it was casually styled, yet dappled with all the adorable evidence of family life: crayon scribbles, a craft corner, a play kitchen and a poorly disguised undercurrent of benign chaos with washing piled in the hall, benches cluttered with papers.

  The sunset hid behind a thick wall of cloud, the sky so overcast it was almost purple. Hannah remembered the feel of this house – as a kid it felt like you were so close to nature you were part of the scenery.

  As they sipped ginger beer while overlooking the squally sea, Eadie scuttling between their seats like a circus act, Hannah felt a jolt of jealousy she had to work hard to rein in.

  She observed. Other than a few laughter lines and slightly rounder curves, Abbi hadn’t changed. She still had a natural allure, made all the lovelier because she didn’t know it and didn’t really care much how she looked (no one who wore thongs with jeans could, surely?). Her tousled, sun-lightened hair had a sultry, effortless kind of grace – it took Hannah hours in velcro rollers to add body to her reed-thin hair.

  Returning from her thoughts, Hannah noticed the burgundy roof and just the tip of heritage green weatherboards of the neighbour’s place poking through the casuarinas down the street. Hannah knew Abbi’s neighbour, Trevor Adler, well. Before she’d won the green card lottery and headed to the States, they’d been colleagues; he the older, wiser principal, Hannah one of his impressionable teachers. He was her mentor, starting out (was it the authority that attracted her, or his genuine connection with young minds?) ‘Haven’t seen the Adlers around town. Assume they’re still next door? Connie must be getting on – she still with us?’

  ‘In and out of rehab, after her stroke, but she’s still kicking,’ Will explained, bent low to tie Eadie’s shoelace. ‘You know, your old teacher mate retired?’

  ‘Trevor? Oh?’ He was significantly older than her, but she hadn’t realised he was retirement age.

  ‘Moved away – few weeks ago actually,’ Will said. ‘Something about running a tourist park.’

  Blake, pushing his boot against the wall to swing the hammock he’d sunk into, had been deep in thought. ‘Mmmm. Yep.’

  Will continued. ‘Catfish still sniffs around and helps Connie when she’s not in hospital, tends to her garden and sets his brother’s crab pots. Sells his catch down the pub.’

  ‘Trevor always organised the best school fetes. Are you guys going this year? I hear there’s going to be markets, and fireworks. Not as good as the Moon Fest, but Eadie’ll love it.’

  Will, Abbi and Blake looked among each other, all tight lipped and darting glances.

  Will cleared his throat. ‘Eadie’s not a big fan of crowds, so we probably won’t make it,’ he said, and Abbi glared like he’d said too much.

  Will squared his jaw.

  Hannah didn’t push, but it felt like there was something behind the remark, and this time, Will was privy to it.

  As the pre-dinner drinks were sipped, somehow the camaraderie Hannah thought they’d found at The Tavern eluded them. Abbi and Blake bickered over what to order for dinner, which Hannah found laughable given there were only two choices in this town: fish and chips or Chinese (and both from the same store). In all of her years in New York, she’d eaten at barely half the restaurants in Soho.

  She tried to relax but couldn’t ignore the undercurrent passing between her companions that she was being left out of. Again.

  ‘What’s with those two?’ Hannah asked Will. Abbi sat with her back to Blake as he loafed in the hammock in the distant corner of the deck, watching Eadie on the swing down below. She lowered her voice, conspiratorially. ‘They used to finish each other’s sentences – they were like a comedy duo but now they’re all awkward silences.’

  When Will shrugged, grabbed his keys and announced he’d go get dinner, she took the opportunity to tag along. She wanted to get to know the man who tamed the impulsive Abbi Jordan.

  * * *

  The red lanterns swinging from greasy beams at the Willow Garden Restaurant gave Will’s face a spruce of colour Hannah hadn’t seen before. Shaking her hair, wet from the rain, she took a seat opposite him while they awaited their food. His thick thighs barely fit on the plastic seat and he wore three shades of blue, but there was something about how comfortable he looked, casually waiting for order fifty-three, that had Hannah intrigued. He was watching her, and when she caught him, he didn’t look away. Social conventions meant nothing to this guy, so taciturn and unaffected by others’ regard, and she envied him.

  She admitted having a strong reaction to Will when they’d first met last week, but since he wasn’t classically handsome, she put it down to how his sheer size gave him a presence, and nothing more. But as she sat waiting for her honey chicken, trying to ignore the calories she was about to ingest, something unexpected happened.

  ‘Amazing to think our lungs developed from those little slits.’ His attention was unwavering as he spoke. It was unnerving.

  ‘Sorry?’ Hannah’s eyes slid sideways.

  Will pointed to the aquarium humming in the corner, next to a bucket of dripping umbrellas. Bug-eyed goldfish swam in circles, in denial that they had nowhere to go. ‘Gills. Every human embryo starts with them, you know. I mean, it makes sense. We were fish once.’

  ‘Oh, that’s right.’ She gave a knowing nod. ‘I forgot. You’re one of those.’

  His face pinched. ‘By “those”, you mean scientists?’

  Hannah smiled. ‘I was going to say “atheists”, but go with your word if you like.’ Not that Hannah could talk – she hadn’t gone to church since she was sixteen but she wasn’t entirely a non-believer.

  He shrugged. ‘Beats “infidel”. Strange though, people look down their noses at us atheists, and yet no war has been fought in the name of heathenism.’

  ‘I figured you weren’t a God-botherer. Eadie’s class has Religion on Fridays, and I take the conscientious objectors in the hall – the kids whose parents get them out of RE,’ Hannah said

  ‘Yeah, well. I never did understand how religion became part of a secular public education system.’

  Hannah wanted to avoid that minefield. ‘Anyway, after the “The Santa Incident” I figured you weren’t down with Jesus.’

  ‘Santa Incident?’ Now his eyes shined like the scales on the fish. ‘Didn’t know we were the stuff of legend.’ Will chuckled.

  Did nothing frazzle this man? ‘Abbi was in tears the other day when all that drama went down – wasn’t a great first week back, not when I was trying to stay in her good books’.

  ‘What did Eadie do?’ he asked.

  Hannah shrugged. ‘She was upsetting the other preppies – telling them there was no Santa.’

  Will raised his eyebrows. ‘You’re big enough to know now, Hannah – there is no Santa.’

  ‘Keep your voice down.’ Hannah said under her breath, gesturing to a family in the corner with sticky-beaking children.

  ‘I mean, I’d never allow her to prejudice anyone on the basis of religion – as far as I know, the jury’s still out on that one – but I think there is a consensus in terms of Santa being a mythical figure.’ A woman wearing shorts too small for her size clamped her hands over her little girl’s ears and frowned at Will from across the stack of dated magazines. Will shrugged, turned back to Hannah. ‘If the
kid’s old enough to know what mythical figure means, she’s old enough to know the truth.’

  ‘Oh, you grouch. St Nicholas gave gifts to the poor. That part is true. And kids get a lot of joy out of Christmas. Is there really any harm in the tradition?’ It was the crux of her childhood best-day list. Hannah couldn’t smell mangoes without thinking of her mother standing over the sink sucking on a fleshy yellow seed, tinsel swooping from the ceiling, carols crackling up the hall.

  ‘Not until the day they realise their parents have been lying to them their whole lives and start to wonder what else they’ve been scammed on.’

  Hannah resisted the urge to meddle, but then meddled anyway. ‘Someone really did a number on you, didn’t they? Did your parents do something evil, like tell you there was a tooth fairy?’ She changed position in her seat, her sandals tacky on the sticky lino as she crossed her legs.

  The mother’s order was called and she grabbed her huge golf umbrella from the bucket and left in a bigger hurry than was warranted, glaring at them as she dripped away.

  ‘Have a great night!’ Will called. He tried to high-five the little girl, as if that would rectify stealing Christmas from her, but the mother pulled her daughter close as if Will were the Devil incarnate. Will surveyed them braving the rain outside until they were out of earshot. Then he grew quiet. ‘My parents never told me I was adopted. I found out at twelve, with my tonsillectomy – blood type on my bed chart was impossible if they were my parents. They didn’t think I’d figure it out.’ He scratched his greying stubble. ‘Questioned everything they told me ever since.’

  Hannah felt like a bitch. ‘I’m sorry.’ She thought of her own family. Of her lonely father, locked away at home at that very moment while she gadded about. But she put this out of her mind. Blake had never mentioned that about Will and she wondered if he even knew. She felt weirdly proud, like she was losing her newcomer status.

 

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