Seven Days: The Complete Story

by Dale, Lindy

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  Lindy Dale

  SEVEN DAYS: The Complete Story

  (Books 1-5)

  CHAPTER ONE

  A tear wells and spills over, running down my cheek until it reaches the tip of my nose. It drips onto my knee, making a tiny splash of liquid on my skin and I smear it away with my finger.

  A year. It’s been a whole year and I still can’t get past the fact that I’m alone in this world. An orphan. No family; no one who’ll come when I call for help in the middle of the night. No one to tell me how brilliant I am, even when I suck. Which I do. Often. Like right now, for instance. Sitting here on the beach, howling like a baby. That’s major suckage.

  Sniffing back the tears. I attempt to rally. I’m an adult, I tell myself. I shouldn’t need the constant validation of those around me to prove I am a worthy person. I can do life by myself. I don’t need a mother.

  Yeah, right.

  I sigh and begin to cry again. While that might be true, it’s simply not the point. The point is, I feel alone, abandoned, deserted. And even though it’s been twelve months since Mum died, I’m especially lost today, on the anniversary of her death.

  I reach into my pocket, pulling out a photo. It was taken the Christmas before last on my auntie’s instant camera, one of those cool vintage ones that are hip again. Mum and I standing in front of the old maple tree in our garden. She has her arm around my shoulder like she’s never going to let me go. I think about how Mum always loved that tree. Every autumn when the leaves decorated the street and annoyed the crap out of the neighbours, she loved it even more. It used to make her laugh that Mr Jenson got so riled up he felt compelled to rant while using his leaf blower. Nobody could hear a word he said.

  I run my finger over the spot marking Mum’s face, studying it. I’ve looked at this photo a hundred times, more even, yet I never saw until now how alike Mum and I look. We have the same eyes, round and blue. Our smile is identical, wide and friendly and sort of like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman. And our noses, well they most definitely match, right down to the tiny bump on the bridge I hate so much. Mum’s hair was darker than mine but that’s probably because she used to dye it. Mine’s auburn if we’re being polite, carroty red if we’re not.

  It was the middle of the night when I got the news that Mum was gone. I was in the university bar celebrating the end of another year. The ting of my phone interrupted me at the very moment I was about to make a complete tit of myself — ironically — by taking off my t-shirt and running around the bar with it over my head for a dare. I loathe dares. I don’t like being out of control, not knowing what will happen but, hey, we had one year to go. Two semesters of study. Three practical placements. It was a big night. I’d also been the recipient of just about every award for my year group. It didn’t dawn on me until after the funeral that I had nobody to share my achievements with anymore. Well, nobody to say how proud they were, at any rate. Slamming back a few celebratory tequilas isn’t quite the same thing.

  As the news was imparted, I remember dropping my phone and everything going numb. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t make sense of what the voice had said and it wasn’t because I’d had fifteen Dark and Stormy’s. My ears simply lost their ability to hear and my brain to comprehend. There’d been an accident. A body, believed to be my mother’s, had been found washed up on the beach right near where I sat now.

  That was the night my life changed and not for the better.

  I cross my legs, watching grains of sand sift through my fingers. My tears plop into the sand making a tiny well of water before they soak beneath the surface. Mum’s gone. It’s been hard and today is bringing it back all over again. The horror is as alive and well as if it was happening right this minute.

  “Excuse me? Is this yours?”

  I roll my eyes inwardly, not wanting to lift my head. I don’t want to converse, what I want is for whoever it is to leave me alone. Now. Talking is too difficult today.

  “Excuse me?—”

  The voice is rather persistent.

  “—It’s only that it was almost in the water.” A shadow moves in front of me, darkening the area around my legs. I look up into the sun squinting to see its owner. Mum’s sunhat is in a stranger’s hand. It’s covered in sand and the ribbon is dangling limply where it’s gotten wet. I feel myself frowning. How did this man get my mother’s hat? I’m positive I left it on the sand beside me. I glance down, knowing of course, that it won’t be there and it’s not. Seriously, I’m losing my mind. I am.

  I nod. “Yes.”

  The man hands the hat to me, his fingers touching mine as he does. His head tilts slightly, like he’s waiting for something. Why doesn’t he leave? Can’t he see I’m relishing in my own misery?

  “Are you okay?”

  No. Go. Away.

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  “You’re crying.”

  Well, that’s fairly obvious. I’m also feeling quite antisocial and if he doesn’t leave I might have to explain that. Forcefully.

  “It’s okay. Really.”

  “Is there something I can do? Someone I can get to help you?”

  Suddenly, my silent tears turn to sobs. I don’t give a toss that I’m behaving like this in front of a complete stranger because it’s his fault. He talked about getting people to help and I have no one. I am alone. Pulling my knees up to my chest, I put my forehead on them to hide my face. I sob and sob, my crying making my shoulders heave and leaving me breathless. My teeth chatter against my knees because my chin is wobbling in an attempt to quell the tears. They’re like those wind up joke teeth you buy from the party shop they’re chattering so much.

  I feel the stranger sit next to me on the sand. A hand tentatively splays over my forearm. It doesn’t move. It’s just there; its warmth reassuring me. I know I should pull away, that it should be creepy, some guy approaching me out of the blue and putting his hand on my arm but it’s not. The action has made me sag with a rush of final tears. I feel comforted. Released from my sorrow.

  “Have you hurt yourself?” he asks.

  “No,” I emphasise, lifting my head at last. “And you don’t have to sit here. I’m fine.”

  The man removes his hand and slings his arms over his bent up knees. He gazes out to the ocean. “You don’t look fine. I’d offer a hug and a shoulder to cry on but it sounds a bit serial killer considering we’ve just met. Are you sure there’s nothing less stalker-ish I can do?”

  “Not that I can think of, but thanks.” I press the heels of my hands against my stinging eyes, give a loud and unladylike sniff and wipe my nose on my arm leaving a trail of blubbery snot up my wrist. I slide my arm away quickly, hoping he didn’t see it.

  “I’m Nicholas, by the way.”

  “Sadie. Thanks for taking the time to stop. I must look so stupid sitting here on the beach bawling my eyes out.”

  “You look beautiful. Sad but beautiful.”

  “Oh sure.” I cast him a disbelieving look and try not to blush at the compliment. Physical impossibility.

  “Hey, I was trying to be diplomatic. I don’t want you to start crying again. I’m not good with girls and tears. I never know what to say.”

  His admission cheers me up. I rally. “So what do I actually look like, then? Go on. Hit me with the worst.”

  He considers me for a moment. His fingers caress his chin in a comical way and he purses his lips as if deep in thought. He has very nice lips. The bottom one is full and almost pouty, the kind you want to suck into your mouth. And they’re very pink. Rather kissable.

  Shit. I’m perving on the guy’s mouth and I do
n’t even know him. Fancy being so easily distracted when I’m meant to be thinking about Mum. I’m such a tart.

  He does have nice lips, though.

  “Well?” I question.

  “You have a snot trail.” His index finger indicates my cheek.

  “Noooo!” I pull my hem of my t-shirt over my fist, swiftly wiping my cheek. Talk about embarrassing. “How about now?”

  “It’s an improvement,” he says. “Not that you looked that bad in the first place. You’re a bit soggy round the eyes, though. Like your mum died.”

  Which is absolutely not what I needed to hear. My face collapses and with it my restored mood. I suck in air, trying to breath, trying not to cry again. It’s not working. The sadness is building. It’s like a ball rising in my throat, choking me.

  Nicholas frowns; the recognition of what he’s said dawning. “Jesus, sorry. Tell me your mum didn’t actually die.”

  “My mum actually died.”

  “Fuck, I’m such a dickhead.”

  “You… Didn’t… Know.” My words are punctuated by tearful, choked snuffles. I see the concerned look on his face. I think I’m scaring him so I try to pull myself together. I mean, it’s been a year. I was only coming here to remember Mum on the anniversary of her death, not fall into the depths of misery again. I need to get a grip and stop blubbering at every tiny thing like a sooky girl. Mum wouldn’t have wanted that and I’ve never been a fan of the blubbering girl either.

  Nicholas stares at the horizon for a while, letting me cry.

  “Better?” he asks, at last.

  “Mmm. Thanks, again.” Somehow it is. His being here is nice. I feel less lost. His presence seems natural, like we’ve known each other for the longest time.

  About half an hour goes by as we sit watching the waves lapping at the shore and the sun going down beyond the horizon. Neither of us says a word but there’s no need to. Nicholas’ brand of comfort lies in the fact that he was prepared to stop and sit with me, a girl he doesn’t know. That says volumes. As the sun finally disappears, he speaks, “I was heading for a beer and a burger. Do you want to come?”

  I remember the last time I ate was at breakfast. Suddenly, I’m ravenous.

  “I look like crap,” I say. “Not like someone you’d want to be seen with in a public place.” My face goes blotchy and red when I’ve been crying. My eyes swell up like balloons so I look like one of those puffy-eyed fish. Not the ones with spikes that are poisonous, those ones you find in a fish tank. Goggle-eyed. That’s my usual I’ve-had-a-cry appearance.

  “I don’t care.”

  “The politically correct answer in this instance would be ‘you look great’,” I say.

  “Yeah, but we clarified that you don’t and I can’t lie. Not even to make you happy. Especially not when you know I’d be lying. Anyway, the swelling will go down soon, won’t it? You won’t look like that forever.” He makes a face.

  “Are you attempting to flirt with me, Nicholas? ‘Cause you’re not doing a very good job.” I smile, but only a little.

  “Damn.”

  “Do you always pick up stray girls on the beach?”

  “Not unless they want me to.”

  “I’m guessing a lot of them would want you to.” The man’s an Adonis. His eyes are nothing short of orgasmic. And the smile. Swooooon. Chastising myself for being so easily led, yet again, I concentrate on the conversation.

  “It probably makes me sound like a wanker but most chicks aren’t interested in the real me. They only want one thing.” The smile grows, and suddenly I feel insanely attracted to him. It’s like a magnet making my insides flutter and flip flop. I straighten involuntarily. I press my lips together, supressing the giggle that wants to escape from heaven knows where because I’m not a giggler. Honestly, I’m not.

  “Your three bazillion dollars?” I tease.

  He frowns. “No. My body.”

  “God knows why any girl would want that. You’re not that bae.”

  He gives me a blank look and I realise I’ve just made myself sound like the student I am. “Bae, you know, like ‘hot’.”

  I don’t know why I even said it. It’s a word Emily likes to use; it’s never been my thing. Maybe I’m trying to impress him.

  “At least I don’t have snot up my arm,” he retorts. He pauses. “So, will you join me for a bite?”

  Nicholas stands, holding out his hand. I take it and he tugs me a little too swiftly. I end up so close to his chest we’re almost touching. We stand that way for a second or two and I can practically see the electricity shooting between our bodies as I gaze up into his eyes. He’s staring at me and they’re bottomless, limitless. Like the furthest you could see into the inky blackness of space but never see the end. They’re hypnotising.

  “Coming?”

  I will be shortly if he doesn’t stop looking at me like that.

  “Sure,” I say, my need to find out more about this man squashing the trepidation of doing something so spontaneous. “I think we’ve ascertained I’m not the best company at the moment but if you’re willing to invite me knowing that, then I’ll come eat with you.” I slide on my shoes. They feel gritty under the soles of my feet even though I’ve tried to brush the sand away. I take my towel and hat, shoving them in my beach bag, which I sling over my shoulder. A weight has been lifted. Somehow, through a simple act of kindness, this man has managed to lift me out of my reverie.

  “You’re not going to cry again?”

  “Only if you buy me gin. That always makes me cry.”

  *****

  The Beach Hut is quiet when we arrive. The summer’s almost over and most holiday makers have gone back to their homes in the city. We find a table in the corner with an outlook over the water.

  Like I haven’t seen enough of the water in the last few days. Every waking minute has been spent sitting by the ocean. Thinking. Remembering.

  A waitress arrives and takes our order. She has white blonde dyed hair with a blue streak down the side and a rather large toothy smile. Her dress is so tight you can see every line of her underwear. The buttons down the front look as if they might burst if she bends too far and she leans in Nicholas’ direction, expanding her cleavage so he can get a good look. Geez, her boobs are weapons of mass destruction. She could smother entire suburbs with that cleavage.

  Nicholas makes a joke about ordering gin but she doesn’t get it. I smile at his attempt to cheer me up and order a glass of champagne. He raises a quizzical eyebrow at me as the waitress walks away. “Bubbles? That’s how you get over your melancholy? I hate to see what you’re like when you’re on your game.”

  “I’ve decided to celebrate, not wallow. And I heard the bubbles here are good, so I should at least sample a few glasses before I leave, right? In fact, I might have a glass of everything on the wine list.”

  “My kinda girl.”

  “Um, yeah.” I blush at that. I’m not usually anyone’s kind of girl. I’ve always seen myself as not needing to be part of a couple, single is fine with me. I could, of course, be convinced to change that way of thinking. Especially by a guy with looks like Nicholas. My boyfriends in the past have been, shall we say, conservative? Nice but boring? Missionary? Not to mention countable on one hand.

  Nicholas is none of those things it seems. He’s tall. I noticed that as soon as he stood beside me on the beach. He towers over me and I’m not exactly short. His shoulders fill out the dark blue t-shirt he’s wearing and I can see ripples of muscle as he bends his arm. Not those massive ugly muscles some boys at Uni like to cultivate but the kind a girl wants to run her hands over. His eyes are a smoky, bluish grey and framed by lashes that should be illegal on a man. He has a head of scruffy, dirty blonde hair and stubble gracing a manly chin. I find myself staring at it, imagining things I know I shouldn’t but I can’t help it. It’s that invisible magnet thing. It seems to be pulling us inexplicably together.

  Yep, Nicholas is hot with a capital H and a full stop between
each letter for emphasis. He’s a fantasy. The type of man you lust over but know you can never have, the type that enters your dreams and leaves you pulsing. To look at him is to throb with desire.

  And I’m sitting here calmly discussing the wine list.

  Go, me.

  “So, Sadie.”

  I jump, distracted from my naughty thoughts. “Yes?”

  “What brings you to this neck of the woods?”

  I want to answer this truthfully but I fear it may reduce me to tears again. “It’s the first anniversary of when my Mum died. She drowned.” I indicate the spot along the beach where we met. “I’m staying here for a week or so till Uni starts again.”

  “What are you studying?”

  “Horticulture and landscape architecture. I’m in my final year.”

  “So you like science and you’re creative?”

  Does that make me a geek?

  “I guess. I like being in the garden. Creating an outdoor space is more than putting up a pergola to me.”

  “Did your mum like gardening too?”

  No, don’t go there, Nicholas. Please don’t go there.

  I swallow the thought. “Yes.”

  He gives a slow nod. I think he knows I don’t want to discuss that topic any more. Not yet.

  “And you? What’s your claim to fame? Why are you here?” I ask.

  “First holiday in five years. If you could call it that. My business partner arrives tomorrow so we’re going to mix a little work and play before we head back to town in a week or so.”

  “Where are you staying?” I imagine him in one of those penthouses further along the coast to the south. Despite his rugged looks, he seems like the type, like he only looks this way when he’s on holiday. Not that there’s anything wrong with the way he looks. Not at all.

  “I have a shack too. It used to belong to my grandparents but now it’s mine. I’ve been coming here since I was a kid. Surfing mostly. Can’t believe I’ve never run into you before now.”

  “I’m a bit of a homebody, I guess. Haven’t been here since I was about eight.” I could never understand why Mum didn’t come to the bay more often. I know she loved the sea but that something changed after the summer when I was eight. She was almost reclusive after that. Naturally, she dragged me into that way of thinking.