‘You brought Katie along with you?’
‘I started writing that letter two days ago and did several drafts. I’ve carried that version around in my pocket waiting for the right words. I knew what I wanted to write and that’s when I decided to come by the cottage to see you.’
‘You’re writing her a letter?’ Ava’s voice was heaving with sarcasm but John didn’t seem to notice.
‘There were questions I needed your answer to first and until I’m one hundred per cent certain I’m—’
‘Don’t tell me! You’re leaving your options open?’ Even Ava flinched a little at her acerbic retort, while standing on the far side of the bed John seemed small and vulnerable in only his patterned boxer shorts.
‘No, Ava, that’s not what I meant at all. The one person I know better than myself is Katie O’Brien and, while she might one day forgive me for breaking her heart, she’ll kill me on the spot if I make her cry in front of me. So, you see, telling Katie about us to her face would be the cruellest thing I could do. Trust me on this.’
Ava turned to the window so she didn’t have to see John’s expression. ‘Sneaking away suddenly seems wrong by everyone, John. We should go.’ She detected the exasperation in his sigh as he flopped onto the bed. ‘I’m sorry. I can’t help how I feel.’
‘Give me tonight, please. We’re due to leave tomorrow. We can talk about whatever you want when we get home.’
‘Home?’ Ava paced around the small room. ‘Ivy-May isn’t my home, John. I’m the cook, remember?’
‘Yeah, that’s right, a cook with a chip on her bloody shoulder.’
‘There’s nothing funny about this, John. We’ve run away – a concept I’m more than familiar with having run from my mother, then from Zac. Now you and I have run away from your parents as well as our responsibilities and that’s reckless and inconsiderate.’
‘You’re wrong, Ava. My parents expect a commitment to Ivy-May and I intend to meet that obligation. Admittedly they expect Katie to be involved. I promise to sort things out when we get back.’
‘John, about you and Katie that night after your party…’
Another sigh from John, louder this time. ‘You’ve already asked me if I slept with her. Are we still going down that path, Ava?’
‘And you never did answer. Your dad came in.’
John snatched the note from the bed, balled it in his fist and hurled it at a wall. ‘I’m going to have a shower. Then I’d like to spend the rest of the night not talking about anyone except us. Okay?’
Ava felt the need to clear her head. A quick jog around the park would help work off the tea and, she hoped, shake back into place the common sense she seemed to have mislaid since meeting John Tate. Her first mistake had been flirting back. The second had been to enjoy the clandestine affair right under the noses of John’s parents. With a steady job and a safe place to live, she had dropped her guard and let her heart lead her, rather than her head. She’d expected it would be just an affair: they’d have their fun, and while she would never forget John, he would likely never remember a fling with the hired help.
As she tucked the room key into her pocket, Ava paused to look around the fancy hotel suite. How did you get here, Ava Marchette?
‘Ava?’ John cracked opened the door to the bathroom. He had a towel wrapped tight around his waist and a thousand apologies in his eyes. ‘Hey, you believe me, right?’ He smiled that crooked grin, looked her in the eye and said, ‘I’ve slept with you and only you, Ava, I swear. Cross my heart and hope to die.’
‘I’ll be back soon,’ was her reply.
*
John took another swipe at the misted bathroom mirror, then draped the oversized hand towel around his neck and adjusted the bath sheet around his body. After tonight, all would be forgiven, and he couldn’t wait to see Ava’s face when the restaurant delivered her the perfect panna cotta. He slapped shaving cream on his cheeks and chin, smearing his neck, anticipation making his hands tremble.
His uncontrollable grin made shaving tricky. ‘Best calm down, mate,’ he told himself. ‘The last thing you need is a face full of nicks.’ Tonight was definitely not for corny jokes or comedic impersonations.
He wished he’d had time to make the evening even more special, maybe by buying himself a new tie when he’d popped into the Lowes store earlier and bought a plain white business shirt – his first ever. He needed one that would actually do up around a neck thickened by physical labour and support a tie. With Ava he was definitely punching above his weight – in his mother’s words, John Tate was no oil painting. Not that Marjorie was an art expert: the Tate family had zero creative genes. Besides, there’s no making a masterpiece from the mundane, and that was exactly what life at Ivy-May had been until Ava had come along.
‘Ouch! Steady on, John mate.’ He dabbed at the cut on his chin. ‘A face littered with loo paper is not how you want the evening remembered.’ And he would remember every single moment, every expression on her face, every word, even though he was interested in only one at the appropriate time.
A bloody spot landed on the neck towel and he pressed closer to the mirror, wiping the persistent fog away to inspect his chin for more cuts. When he found none, he rinsed the razor, then began on the other cheek.
After a quick check of his wristwatch, his thoughts shifted to his parents at home. Twenty-four hours from now he would be back at his beloved Ivy-May with a fiancée by his side. Once his mother was over the shock, she would replace her nagging about settling down with an equally annoying countdown to her first grandchild. John wanted the same, of course, but they had things to achieve before that happened.
‘What the… ?’ Another drop of blood soaked into the towel. Having shaved every day for the last five years John wasn’t usually so clumsy with a razor. Perhaps he was more nervous about tonight than he’d realised, even though everything was arranged. More importantly, the ring was where it should be. He just needed to finish getting ready and pace impatiently while Ava showered and changed. If only the damn bathroom mirror would clear.
Another swipe at the steamy film refused to budge the fog, his reflection remaining fuzzy.
‘That’s weird.’
As he drew closer he noticed red dripping from his nose and one ear. He pulled the towel from around his neck to blot the blood and when he leaned over to splash his face in the basin the water rippled pink. With the taste of metal filling his mouth, his stomach lurched and his throat constricted as a sharp, painful stabbing in his head snatched the breath from his lungs. The floor listed and he stumbled, grabbing for support but finding only air. The next thing he felt was his shoulder slamming against cold tiles and there was silence, nothingness, aloneness. Everything was inexplicably distorted, his world at ninety degrees, and beyond the dazzling white bathroom a door banged, a woman screamed, and the white fog closed in thick around him.
Chapter 19
Leaving Ivy-May
The argument had unfolded at the end of a stressful road trip. For eight long hours driving back from Brisbane, Ava had sat next to a seething and mostly silent Marjorie Tate. She had been following Marjorie into the house, offering to make them both coffee and something to eat so they might talk, when the woman turned around and stood in the back doorway of Ivy-May.
‘You should leave, Ava. Clear your things out of the cottage and go.’
‘Marjorie, we can talk about this.’
‘There’ll be no talking. I don’t want you involved with my son. Go.’
‘You can force me to leave Ivy-May, but I won’t leave John. I’m going to wait for him to come home from the hospital.’
‘Home, Ava?’ Marjorie spat the words. ‘This is not your home and, need I remind you, you’re the adult in this relationship. Use that maturity to see that what is best for my son’s fragile state is remaining solely in our care. He’ll never be the John you knew.’
‘You don’t know that. The doctors admit to not fully understanding.’
‘I’m his mother, Ava, and a mother understands. You’ll know that yourself one day. The damage to his brain has affected his memory. John thinks he should be in school.’
‘All the more reason I should stay. If anyone can jog his memory of recent times, I can. He’s in love with me.’
‘Did you not hear what I said, Ava? You’re a twenty-eight-year-old woman. John’s no longer a twenty-one-year-old man. In his mind he’s barely a sixteen-year-old schoolboy expecting to sit his exams next week. Having anything to do with you is not appropriate.’
‘No, that’s not how he is at all. You can’t think of our ages that way. What I have with John is—’
‘Is never, never going to work. Never!’ Marjorie tried shutting the door, only to have it bounce off Ava’s boot and hit her cheek, forcing a pained yelp. ‘For heaven’s sake!’ The woman backed away and Ava seized the opportunity, barging past.
Although she was desperate to stand defiant, Ava had to sit before her legs gave way. She feared her vulnerability was showing. Women like Marjorie – like Lenore – thrived on weakness.
‘Not too long ago you sat at this table and offered me a job. I’ve done my job, Marjorie. You can’t just sack me.’
‘Stop thinking about yourself for once, Ava, you selfish woman.’
‘Me, selfish?’
‘As if this terrible business with John isn’t hard enough for his father and me.’ Marjorie fell into the chair opposite. ‘Don’t make things worse, dear. Leaving is best, certainly in the short term. John doesn’t need the confusion – his brain is struggling and addled enough.’
‘What about my job? You still need a cook and someone who knows how things work.’ Ava had stooped to bargaining with Marjorie Tate. ‘I can help run Ivy-May while you care for John. I can do more. You don’t even have to pay me.’
As quick as a crocodile, Marjorie snapped back: ‘As if I’d be the type of person to take advantage of an employee. No, Ava, we’ll be finding another cook, one who knows the boundaries of their employment. In the meantime, Katie will step up. I’m keen for her to take on more roles here at Ivy-May, especially since she’s invested so much time and energy in the place.’
‘We all know the role you have in mind for Katie.’
‘I’ll remind you that the Ivy-May B-and-B is growing because Katie and John had a shared vision well before you arrived on the scene and seduced my son,’ Marjorie said. ‘They still have that in common and John owes it to Katie to follow through. They’re the perfect partnership, while you have your own dreams to pursue.’
Ava stared at her. What could the woman possibly know about Ava’s dreams?
‘You told me that first day how your father had wanted you to travel far. I’m prepared to help you do that.’
Tears welled in Ava’s eyes as they blinked in silent disbelief.
‘You’ll have a good pay-out and a bonus,’ Marjorie said. ‘Enough to fly to Europe and experience the things he wanted you to do.’
Ava shook her head. Without John she had nowhere to go, nowhere she wanted to be, and no dreams, but the stone-cold look on Marjorie’s face told her she had little choice. ‘I won’t be paid to go away.’
‘Please yourself, Ava. You can wait while I write the cheque, or go now and tell me where to send it.’ Marjorie poked around her handbag on the table. ‘Ivy-May is our business and John’s inheritance. He’ll need focus if he and Katie are to take over from Colin and me one day, and he has some recovering to do before that. You’ve been nothing but a distraction since the day you arrived.’ Now she was searching the pockets of her trousers, and finally the breast pocket on her blouse. ‘The sooner we get him back and settled into a familiar routine with family, the better.’
‘I want to be John’s family. It’s what he wanted.’
‘Here, stop crying.’ She liberated a tissue from a pocket and waved it in front of Ava’s face. ‘Tears won’t help anyone – especially John. And what he doesn’t know can’t hurt.’
‘Meaning what, Marjorie?’
‘John doesn’t remember you, Ava. He remembers Katie because she’s meant more to him for longer. They went to school together, they’ve grown up together, planned together.’ Now Marjorie was up and moving about the room, busying herself, like she always did when she was done talking. ‘He’s known you less than a year.’
‘Time is irrelevant. Your son loves me and I love him. The nurse told me short-term memory often comes back.’
‘And which nurse has been giving so freely of a patient’s status?’
‘One who understands how wrong it is to keep me from him.’
Marjorie returned to the table, a cheque book in her hand. ‘If you love my son you’ll want to help him get better. Katie is our best chance of jogging his memory and bringing him back.’
‘You don’t know that.’ Ava heard the pleading in her voice, not that Marjorie seemed to notice. The woman’s expression was as flat and cold as a frozen lake.
‘If, as you say, John loved you, he will no doubt remember you in time. The doctors said much the same. Time, Ava, and gentle coaxing are the two most important things if we’re to get him back.’ She softened. ‘Let me know where you end up. By all means write to me and I promise that the day he remembers and asks about you I’ll pass on your letters. That’s when I’ll know he’s in a state to make up his own mind.’
Ava was confused. Marjorie sounded so convincing. Had the doctors really said those things? How would she know? Immediate family only, the sign had read. One nurse smuggled a note Ava had written into John’s bag, but without his parents’ permission, staff had no choice but to deny Ava direct contact.
‘I promise to let you know,’ Marjorie was saying.
‘I don’t…’ the word trust stayed wedged in her throat ‘… know where to go, or what to do.’
‘Go somewhere new, dear. There’s a whole world out there. Travel, live your life, find new dreams to pursue. Leave John’s care to me. I’m sorry, but you need to pack your bags and leave Ivy-May.’
As Marjorie handed the cheque across the table, something sparked inside Ava, an explosive blend of anger, resentment and desperation. She gathered herself and stood, shoving the chair so hard it crashed backwards and bounced when it hit the floor.
‘I’ll give you until the end of the week,’ Marjorie added.
‘It won’t take me that long to pack. I’ll clear out the cottage, Marjorie, and I’ll go – for now. But I’ll be back.’
‘Ava?’ the woman called after her. ‘You’re forgetting something.’
Ava turned, tears streaming down her cheeks.
‘The ring, Ava,’ Marjorie said and pocketed the folded cheque.
‘What ring?’
‘The family heirloom I gave John was intended for Katie. I want the ring back.’
‘I told you at the hospital when you asked the same thing. John never gave me a ring. Why won’t you believe me?’
‘Please, don’t take me for a fool. That ring is priceless and it’s to be returned to the family.’
‘Marjorie, I don’t have it.’
‘You’re lying.’
‘Why would I lie? If John had given me your precious ring – any ring – don’t you think I’d be shoving it in your face now as proof of his love and his desire to be with me for the rest of his life?’
‘When I discovered John was gone I checked his bedroom. The box and the ring were missing. At the hospital I checked his belongings, the ones you packed up in the hotel.’
‘If there was a ring, and I never saw one, maybe a hotel employee stole it, or a nurse, because I do not have it. Try looking again in John’s bags. And while you’re at it, take a look at yourself in the mirror. You haven’t only broken my heart. You’ve broken your son’s.’
Chapter 20
Rescued
Ava stomped across Ivy-May’s back veranda, letting the screen door slam shut. Blinded by tears, she ran towards the cottage, stumbling once and
slipping on the muddy path. Without conscious thought she flung her clothes into any bag she could put her hands on and piled the car she’d never wanted with her belongings. Not daring to glance over her shoulder, she steered it down the long drive.
‘I’m sorry, John. I’m so sorry.’
She rounded the final bend that was J. B. Tate Road and drove at speed, weaving dangerously around ruts and potholes until an echidna family scurried in front of her at the Candlebark Creek Bridge on the outskirts of town. Ava screamed, swerved, and the Ford Falcon dived into the ditch, narrowly avoiding a head-on collision in the small creekside forest of gum trees. One front wheel was rammed against a fallen log and a back wheel sat high, looking for purchase where there was no road.
A car pulled up and a voice called, ‘Ava, can you hear me?’
‘John?’ She jerked back, tried to make out the face staring through the passenger-side window. ‘John, help me.’
‘It’s Rick, Ava, stay still.’
‘Rick?’
‘From the pub. I recognised the car, saw a cloud of dust and figured you were in strife.’ The local publican had shifted to the rear passenger door and opened it. ‘Stay calm and unbuckle your seatbelt. Careful. Easy does it.’
Rick Kingston was now in the back seat, his voice guarded, his instructions clear and calm – so calm that Ava knew things weren’t good. No good at all.
‘I don’t have a seatbelt on, Rick.’
‘That’s good, Ava, one less thing to worry about.’
‘How worried should I be?’
‘Are you hurt?’
My pride? And my heart is broken. Does that count?
‘You’ve jammed your front doors so I’ll have to help you out through the back, okay?’
‘Yes.’
‘Now, I’m going to lay your seat back as far as it will go, then I want you to lift your left arm slowly. I’m going to get you to reach up and grab my neck.’
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