by Nicola Marsh
‘How would you know?’
Shock number one had come when her mum had offered her a comforting hug. Shock number two blew her away now, as Coral slid open the third drawer of the dresser—the one that had used to house rubber bands and paperclips and recycled plastic bags—and pulled out a bulky scrapbook with her name on the cover.
‘Here. See for yourself.’
Coral flipped towards the back of the scrapbook and pointed at a carefully clipped picture of her and Rory at the campsite yesterday, of him squatting next to the open car door, gazing up at her and holding her hand.
He’d lied.
She’d asked him if their camping weekend would be media fodder too. He’d said no.
She should have known better than to believe a word from his devious mouth. A guy who’d used her from the beginning would say anything to squirm his way out of trouble—all in the name of protecting his precious company.
‘If that’s not the expression of a smitten man, I don’t know what is.’
Speechless, Gemma ignored the picture of Rory and flicked back through the scrapbook, her mind reeling as she scanned pages filled with her earliest drawings, the first Mother’s Day card she’d made, a short story she’d written in second grade, yearly school photos, sporting achievements, the invitation to her graduation …
She’d known about the kiddie stuff, but all these clippings of her achievements after her dad had died? News to her.
When she came to the last page, the one with the newspaper clippings about her and the latest addition with her and Rory, she finally risked glancing at her mother. The woman who’d cared a lot more than she’d ever admitted.
‘Why did you keep all this stuff?’
Coral tried to appear as poised and cool as ever, but Gemma noted her hands trembling as she picked up her coffee cup.
‘No bull, Mum. The truth.’
Taking several long sips that grated on Gemma’s nerves, Coral finally replaced the coffee cup on the table.
‘Because I was proud of you, and it helped me feel close to you after your father died.’
The sip of coffee Gemma had taken soured in her mouth. Had her mum wanted to get close but hadn’t known how?
‘What do you mean, you couldn’t get close to me?’
Coral paled and the corners of her mouth drooped. ‘Maybe this isn’t the best time to have this conversation—’
‘There’ll never be a good time.’ Dragging in a breath, Gemma blew it out slowly, calming. ‘You want me to start? Fine. After Dad died an invisible wall sprang up between us and I never knew why. Then I see this—’ she waved at the scrapbook ‘—and it makes a mockery of every self-doubt I’ve ever had. So ‘fess up. What’s this all about?’
Anguish clouded Coral’s eyes before her head sagged in defeat. ‘Your father.’
Of all the answers Gemma had expected that hadn’t been one of them. ‘What does Dad have to do with this?’
Coral clasped her hands tightly and laid them in her lap, squaring her shoulders as if readying for battle. Her rigid posture was the epitome of prim and proper, without a hint of the defeat of a few moments ago.
‘You were always your father’s daughter from the time you could walk, and I could never compete with that.’
Shocked at the admission, Gemma shook her head. ‘We were a close family. We did stuff together all the time. There was never a competition between you.’
‘That’s because I fitted in with whatever you wanted to do with your dad.’ Coral’s hands twisted, the knuckles stark white against her crimson suit. ‘As a toddler you were already building block towers and pushing dump-trucks and demolishing trains. You weren’t interested in dolls or fairies or sparkles. Then as you grew you trailed after your father constantly, spending hours locked away in that workshop of his. Shutting me out,’ she added, speaking so softly Gemma almost didn’t hear.
A pang of guilt shot through her misery. Had they shut her out? Gemma remembered rushing through her homework so she could spend a few hours after school watching her dad build something. And weekends had been heaven, when they’d lock themselves away in the workshop or trawl markets for parts.
Gemma had always thought her mum didn’t mind because she’d watch them and ply them with snacks—when she wasn’t busy hosting a garden party or having coffee with her friends on Chapel Street.
But maybe Coral had done those things to occupy her time? To fill the void left by a husband and only child so wrapped up in each other’s hobbies they’d ignored her?
‘We never meant to exclude you,’ she said, the guilt pressing more heavily against her chest when Coral blinked back tears.
‘I know. And it didn’t matter so much when we were a family. But after your father died …’ Coral wrung her hands, twisting them over and over, until Gemma reached out and stopped her. ‘I was afraid.’
‘Of what?’
‘Of having nothing in common with you, of not being able to relate to you in the same way you’d always related to your father, of having you reject me.’
Coral sniffed and dabbed her nose with a tissue while Gemma absorbed the enormity of the truth and regretted they hadn’t had this conversation years ago.
‘By the time I’d dealt with my grief and pulled myself together the gap between us had grown and I didn’t know how to breach it.’
What could Gemma say? She knew exactly what her mum meant because she’d felt the same way. Wanting to be closer to her mother but not knowing how to approach her, especially when they had nothing in common. But if her mum could confess her innermost fears, so would she.
‘I was only a teenager, Mum. I felt like I’d let you down in some way.’
Coral shook her head fiercely. ‘Never. I hate that you think you weren’t good enough in some way. I never meant to reject you, darling. I was always proud of you.’ She nodded at the scrapbook. ‘That’s proof of it …’ Her mum trailed off, unable to meet her eyes.
‘There’s more, isn’t there?’
Coral’s teary gaze snapped to hers, her nod reluctant. ‘I’m ashamed to admit I was jealous.’
‘Of me?’
‘No, of your relationship with your father. When you hit your teens I expected you to grow apart from him, like my friends’ kids, but you didn’t. You two seemed to get closer, and that really irked.’ Her gaze dropped to focus on her wringing hands. ‘I—I thought it was me, that I was at fault somehow.’
‘Mum—’
‘No, let me finish.’ Coral dabbed at her eyes, not a telltale blob of mascara to be seen. ‘Losing your father ripped me apart, but in my own twisted way I thought it’d bring us closer. I didn’t expect you to share my love of fashion or manicures or glossy magazines, but I wanted us to be close. When the opposite happened I didn’t know how to deal with it.’ Coral dragged her tear-filled gaze to meet hers. ‘I let you down and I’m sorry.’
Gemma didn’t know what to say. Not that she could say anything with that giant lump of regret stuck in her throat.
‘You needed me after Karl died and I wasn’t there for you. By the time I wanted to be it was too late …’
‘It’s never too late.’ Gemma reached across the table and covered one of her mum’s hands with hers. ‘We can’t change the past but we can make more of an effort in the future. We can both be there for each other.’
But, considering her relationship with Rory was over, would she still stick around?
‘I’ve planned on staying longer in Melbourne once the Portsea project wraps up …’
Panic flared in Coral’s eyes at the mention of Portsea, igniting Gemma’s latent anger.
‘I have to tell you, Mum, I’ll never understand how you could’ve sold Dad’s land for your own needs.’
Coral gnawed on her bottom lip, removing the carefully applied lipstick and leaving an ugly smudge.
Puzzled by her conflicted expression, Gemma removed her hand, but Coral’s hand snaked out and snagged hers, her eyes suddenly
bright and clear.
‘It wasn’t for me.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I sold the land to pay off your father’s debts.’
Shock ripped through long-held belief. ‘What about your lifestyle? This house?’
Coral squeezed her hand and released it. ‘Your father’s family bestowed this house, the Portsea land and some shares on us when we married. We lived off those investments. But your father insisted on sending you to private school, and he spent a lot on those experiments of his …’
She trailed off and the reality of the situation hit. Her mum hadn’t sold Karl’s land on a whim; she’d done it out of necessity.
‘Are you in financial trouble now?’
Coral shook her head. ‘The sale of the land cleared your school fees debt and paid off the rest of what we owed.’
Now stricken with guilt, Gemma said, ‘Why didn’t you tell me? After what I said to you, what I accused you of—’
‘Because I didn’t want to taint the image you had of your father. You idolised him, were devastated when he died. Better you should think I sold the land out of selfishness than blame him.’
Her mum was that selfless? It only made what she’d thought that much meaner.
Anger mingled with regret. Anger at her dad for putting them in this predicament, anger that the perfect father she’d adored hadn’t been so perfect, anger that her memories of him would now be tainted by disillusionment.
Anger at herself for blaming her mum for something that wasn’t her fault.
‘I’m sorry, Mum. For everything.’
Tears glistened in Coral’s eyes again. ‘I’m sorry too. For wasting all those years when I should’ve made more of an effort to reconnect with my only child.’
Gemma had never been a hugger, but embracing her mum now seemed the most natural thing in the world.
When they’d resumed their seats, Coral tapped the scrapbook.
‘If you’re in such a forgiving mood, maybe you should extend some towards that young man of yours?’
Gemma’s reluctant gaze fell on the photo of Rory. He did have a starry-eyed expression, as if she was the best Christmas present he’d ever received. Probably an act, but damn, it was a good act—one she’d fallen for.
‘I’m not only upset because he used me.’ She knuckled her eyes, annoyed at the persistent burn of tears since she’d discovered the truth behind their relationship. ‘It’s more than that. I told him about us—how I felt worthless and not good enough when you rejected me.’
‘Oh, honey, I’m so sorry—’
‘It’s okay, Mum, we’ve discussed it. We’re moving on. But I opened up to Rory, the first guy I’ve ever trusted, and he’s done the same thing. I thought he saw beneath my bravado, saw the real me and liked me for it regardless. But it was all a lie.’
A sob bubbled up and she swallowed it, determined not to cry over him any more.
‘He doesn’t respect me for who I really am. All he sees is what I can do for him professionally. He doesn’t know me at all.’
That was what cleaved her heart: the fact he’d said she shouldn’t doubt her self-worth, she was amazing, incredible, blah, blah, blah. And all the while he’d been buttering her up, getting cosy to suit his own ends.
He’d done exactly what she’d divulged had hurt her most: rejected her for no other reason than being herself.
She could throttle him.
‘How did you find out?’
‘The louse told me.’ She breathed deeply, in and out, calming. ‘We had this amazing weekend, connected on so many levels, then he blurted the truth.’ Her hands fisted. ‘I could kill him.’
‘I’d help you if I thought he’d done what you’re accusing him of.’
Gemma frowned at her mum’s defence. ‘He did it. He told me.’
‘Why would he have told you the truth unless you mean something to him? He could’ve continued the lie but he didn’t.’
Probably couldn’t sleep at night with a guilty conscience. How she wished that wombat had gnawed on his bits.
‘I’m not wasting time figuring out his motivations.’
Coral pursed her lips, deep in thought. ‘Maybe you should? We’ve wasted a lot of years doubting ourselves, second-guessing, unable to reach out for fear of rejection.’
Coral touched her cheek in brief reassurance.
‘Shouldn’t you challenge him and hear his rationale, so you’ll have no regrets whatever happens?’
Gemma sulked. Great time for her mum to pull out the maternal advice—especially when it made perfect sense.
‘Take it from someone who knows. Don’t waste a minute of your life wishing you could change a situation without giving it a damn good shake-up first.’
Was it that simple? Should she confront Rory? Give him a chance to explain?
She’d been so consumed by hurt when he’d told her the truth she hadn’t wanted to hear any more, let alone some misplaced declaration of love.
But what if he did love her? Could they make this work?
Only one way to find out.
Raising her coffee cup in Coral’s direction, she smiled for the first time in an hour.
‘Here’s to more wise motherly advice.’
Coral’s lower lip wobbled in response, a fat tear plopping into her coffee before she returned a watery smile.
Gemma couldn’t cry any more. She’d used up her yearly quota. Tears were wasted.
Having her mum’s reassurance meant the world to her: she was special and unique and loved—not some freakish outcast as she’d misguidedly thought all these years.
The knowledge gave her confidence. Confidence to confront her future head-on.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CONSIDERING he’d had his feet ravaged by killer insects, his ass almost chewed by a crazed wombat and his declaration of love flung back in his face over the weekend, Rory knew the week had to get better.
It didn’t.
He spent Monday troubleshooting in Brisbane, Tuesday schmoozing in Sydney, and Wednesday delegating in Adelaide. Three full-on days of check-ins and airline food and Devlin Corp business.
The airport stuff he could do without, but the business side of things? Usually he thrived on it. Not this week. This week sucked.
Big-time.
He’d handled problems non-stop—from insubordinate contractors to fluctuating market values, bank errors to threatened strikes.
He’d had a gutful.
His only consolation? Business problems kept his mind off problems of another kind: namely Gemma.
In that annoying time before drifting off to sleep, when his mind blanked, the memory of their last encounter would surface, ramming home the fact that the woman he loved didn’t believe in him.
Sure, he’d stuffed up with not telling her sooner about why he’d initially hired her and the newspaper publicity, but what sort of a cold, heartless woman flung a sincere declaration back in his face?
Okay, so she wasn’t cold or heartless—far from it. But he couldn’t believe she wouldn’t give him a chance to explain.
He’d compulsively checked his phone for messages or e-mails the last few days, hopeful she’d relent and contact him. Nothing.
He’d deluded himself into believing it was probably better this way: clean break, no emotional fallout.
Yeah, right.
He was kidding himself.
Aside from the fact he had to see her in the business arena for the next few weeks, until her tender ran out, he couldn’t pretend what they’d shared meant nothing.
He might have chosen to shut emotions out of his life for years, but now he’d let them in there was no turning back.
He’d never be like his dad, going through women like socks, but he could see the appeal of never staying with one woman long enough to get involved. Lack of emotional ties meant pain-free disentanglements. Something he had a feeling would definitely not apply to him and Gemma.
A dull ache resi
ded between his brows and had done for the last few days. Pinching the bridge of his nose to stop it from escalating, he strode through the deserted hallways of Devlin Corp.
He wasn’t in the mood for an all-nighter, but he needed something to take his mind off Gemma now he’d mentally conjured her again.
Annoyed he’d had another lapse, he flung open the door to his office. Stopped dead.
Gemma had managed to surprise him yet again.
She raised an eyebrow, looked him up and down. ‘About time you showed up.’
Speechless, he stared at the woman he loved, chained to his desk, wearing grungy camouflage pants, a black T-shirt, ugly fuchsia jellyfish earrings and a smile that could tempt a saint.
Considering he’d seen what she had beneath those awful clothes, he sure as hell was no saint.
Several long seconds later, when he’d managed to quell the urge to run across the office and scoop her into his arms, he shut the door and covered the distance between them to stand less than a foot away.
Close enough to smell her light spring sunshine fragrance. Close enough to see the flicker of uncertainty behind the sass in her eyes. Close enough to touch her.
He wanted to touch her—boy, did he want to. But he couldn’t afford to get distracted. Not when they had a few issues to sort out. Namely, did they have a future?
‘How long have you been tied to that thing?’
She shrugged and the chains around her wrists rattled. ‘About thirty minutes.’
‘How did you—?’
‘Denise let me in. She knew your estimated time of arrival. I said I had important business that couldn’t wait.’ A tiny line creased her brow. ‘Considering she’s probably seen that picture of us in the tabloids, like the rest of Melbourne, I’m guessing she didn’t buy my business excuse.’
She’d given him the perfect opening line to dive into an explanation about that latest publicity shot, but he didn’t take it. He wanted to know why she was here before putting himself on the line again.
‘Why the chains?’
She’d captured his attention the first time she’d pulled that trick and it hadn’t waned since.