Jilted

by Rachael Johns

  Chapter Six

  As Flynn made his way out of the sheep yards, where he’d been tidying feet ready for the big ram sale, he saw Lucy running towards him from the homestead. She was shouting something, her arms waving crazily over her head as she did so. He started in her direction.

  ‘What’s up, little sis?’

  Despite almost losing it on the weekend and running into Ellie, he’d woken up in a good mood, optimistic about inhabiting the same town as her. The initial meeting was over and, he had to say, it had been less traumatic than he’d anticipated. He’d handled it a lot better than she had, that’s for sure. Probably because, when push came to shove, she was the one with something to feel guilty about. If she hadn’t loved him enough to settle down with him, she should have been woman enough to say so to his face.

  As the gap closed between the siblings, Flynn noticed his mobile in Lucy’s hand. Instinctively, he padded his pocket where the phone usually lived. ‘Careful with that,’ he said, reaching for it when Lucy approached.

  ‘I wasn’t the one who left it on the kitchen table where it’s been ringing incessantly and almost vibrating off the edge.’ She puffed a little to catch her breath. ‘The house phone’s been going crazy since the crack of dawn too.’

  Flynn frowned and glanced at the screen. Twenty-two missed calls. That had to be a record.

  ‘ Women’s Weekly has rung, TV Week, The Australian and even Sunrise.’ Excitement bounced off every word. ‘Kochie and Mel want to interview you. And Stacey says you’re on the front page of The West. You’re famous.’ Two words he didn’t want to hear. Especially not for the reasons he guessed. Why else would the journos come sniffing around?

  ‘Shouldn’t you be at school?’

  ‘School holidays,’ Lucy said with a grin.

  He sighed as the phone buzzed again. ‘No point prolonging the inevitable.’ He answered. ‘Good morning, Flynn Quartermaine.’

  ‘And a very good morning to you too, Flynn,’ sang a woman’s voice. ‘How does it feel to have your first love back in town?’

  He gritted his teeth. The audacity of the woman not even bothering to introduce herself, hoping he’d spill some juicy news before realising she wasn’t an old friend. Yeah right.

  ‘If you’re referring to Ellie Hughes, that has absolutely nothing to do with me. Please don’t call again.’

  ‘But Flynn …’

  He snapped his phone shut. He didn’t have time for this in the middle of shearing. But he knew someone who did. ‘Lucy, what’s on your agenda for today?’

  She pouted. ‘We’re supposed to be studying for mock exams, but I need to practise my audition for the play. Casting is tomorrow arvo. Only I’ve rehearsed so many times, I have no idea whether I’m getting worse or better.’ Her eyes lit up a moment. ‘Wanna watch?’

  ‘Yes,’ he smiled, feeling as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. ‘If you screen my calls today, I’ll help you practise this evening. Deal?’

  ‘Hell yeah.’ She held out her bawdy manicured hand – this time with glittery gold nails – for his phone. ‘I can handle the media. I can even write you up a press statement if you like. We learned about them last week in English.’

  ‘Hold fire on the press release,’ he said. ‘Tell the media I have nothing to say and take the name and number of anyone important.’

  ‘Got it, captain.’ Lucy saluted him.

  He chuckled, trying to forget Ellie, forget the press and focus on the work that needed to be done. With not long until farmers from all around came to inspect his stock, he had plenty to organise.

  ‘You’re a champ,’ he told Lucy. ‘And I reckon you’ll knock everyone’s socks off at auditions.’

  ‘I hope so,’ she answered, before turning and walking back to the main house.

  Alone again, Flynn thought of what the journalist had said and wondered if they were hassling Ellie as well. Yeah, of course they were. The difference was, she probably relished the attention. But in spite of this, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. Damn, she’d looked great yesterday. Not as polished as the photos he’d glimpsed over the years, her rich brown hair scraped back almost messily, her complexion paler, her body a little thinner than he liked but still … sexy as all hell. Sexy even in simple jeans and a rugby top. Sexier than any other woman he’d ever met. Just the thought of her had the blood pumping in a southerly direction. His hormones were only raring up now because yesterday they’d been suppressed by shock. He’d known some time or other he’d bump into Ellie – Hope was a small town – but he hadn’t prepared himself well. He hadn’t thought about what he would say when the moment arose. Small talk should have been the go, to show her he’d moved on, that he didn’t feel anything in her presence and that he definitely didn’t want to rekindle their friendship. Discussion of the weather or the lack of rain would have been real insulting. Instead, he’d stared like some crazed pervert and pleaded, ‘Why?’

  For a split second, he’d regretted the question. Maybe he didn’t want to know if there was an answer beyond the conclusions he’d already come to. Sometimes the truth was best left buried in the past. But he needn’t have worried. She’d looked through him like he was a ghost – a blurry memory from long ago. Simply stared without the slightest inclination to acknowledge him. He’d felt small – real small – and the best thing had been to get out of there before he let loose on exactly what he thought of her.

  But as he reflected on it now, and failed to get Ellie out of his head, the question still lay unanswered. Better left alone or not, he couldn’t rid himself of the urge to know if there’d been more to her departure than met the eye.

  ‘So, who’s in charge of this revival?’ Ellie asked as she helped Matilda into the wheelchair. It was Tuesday, just after lunch, and the first official meeting of the theatrical society had been scheduled in the hope of attracting some of the high schoolers to the production. They’d decided walking was easier than Matilda hauling her crutches in and out the car and having to hobble about once there. Ellie had practised her deep breathing in front of the mirror only moments ago, telling herself it was silly to get all worked up over walking down the street.

  ‘Precious Joyce and your old Drama teacher, Eileen Ellery.’ Matilda sighed. ‘I was supposed to be the third musketeer, but I’m useless as a tits on a bull now. Still, I want to be there for moral support.’

  Ellie scoffed. ‘Just because you can’t walk doesn’t mean you’re not worth your weight in gold. I remember all those productions that went off without a hitch due to your fabulous stage management.’

  ‘Ah, you’re too kind, Els. Still, you’d be more use these days.’ She paused and Ellie could guess what was coming next. ‘Why don’t you come in with me and help us judge the auditions?’

  ‘No thanks.’ Ellie was firm as she opened the front door, pushed Matilda through and locked it behind them. A sucker for punishment she was not. ‘I’ll go home and start on the awnings.’ Before Matilda could press any further, Ellie moved the conversation along. ‘What play are you putting on? Something traditional or something mod?’

  As they strolled down the faded footpath, Ellie kept her head low and Matilda jabbered on happily about the play Joyce had written specifically for Hope Junction. ‘It’s a love story, in essence, but it captures rural life and the community spirit perfectly. It’s a story of drought and depression and the effect these have on relationships. Of course, there’s a happy ending. One big smooch and the curtains will come down in front of a most contented audience, I reckon.’

  ‘Sounds good,’ said Ellie, biting her lip as the Memorial Hall came into view – she wasn’t quite ready for another public humiliation. ‘Pity I won’t be here to see it.’

  ‘Well …’ Matilda started, but the sentence was lost as they both took in the sight ahead. Cameras flashed and two people whom Ellie instantly recognised as journalists huddled around a white ute. The same ute that had been at the service station that day she’d fainte
d. Flynn’s ute.

  Were they harassing him already? Ellie’s heart raced so fast she could virtually hear it and she nearly stumbled on a crack in the concrete. She wished the crack were big enough to swallow her. If she knew the media, they would have found Flynn’s number and practically started stalking him. Thank God any contact she had with the press always went through Dwayne.

  Ellie and Matilda watched as Flynn stepped out of the car, faded jeans clinging to his buttocks and a scowl on his still incredibly gorgeous face. Not making eye contact with anyone, he strode around and opened the passenger door.

  The racing of Ellie’s heart stopped as a beautiful young girl slipped out of the car, a smile as wide as a country street on her tanned face. She looked too young for Flynn but Ellie still felt a jolt of jealousy shoot through her. Jealousy she had no right to – Flynn could date whoever he wanted, even if they did look juvenile enough to be his daughter.

  ‘Have you talked to Ellie yet?’ shouted a short, dumpy journo, overstepping the boundary of personal space as she leaned towards Flynn.

  ‘Do you still love her?’ called the other, angling his camera for a better shot.

  ‘How did you know I’d be here?!’ Flynn’s voice roared over the top of everyone’s.

  ‘Your sister mentioned it when I called yesterday,’ said the first one. ‘Very chatty she was.’

  The gorgeous girl at Flynn’s side hung her head and had the good sense to look sheepish. Lucy?

  Ellie must have uttered the name aloud for Matilda nodded and said, ‘Yes, she’s grown up into a lovely girl. But a bit scatty apparently, can’t make up her mind what she wants to do with her life.’

  ‘She can only be seventeen,’ replied Ellie, recalling the seven-year-old with curly, golden pigtails who’d been like the little sister she’d always longed for. Leaving Flynn had been bad enough, but losing his sister and parents too – it had been like losing a whole family. ‘She’s got plenty of time for serious decisions.’

  ‘That’s if she lives to see tomorrow,’ snorted Matilda.

  Flynn had angled the journalists out of earshot and was speaking sternly to Lucy. Ellie couldn’t bear Flynn suffering this invasive attention and Lucy getting into trouble when she was probably tricked into revealing their whereabouts. Neither of them had asked for this. They weren’t the ones with a home on prime time television. They weren’t the ones who’d run away.

  Checking the brakes were secure on the wheelchair, Ellie sucked in a deep breath and marched forward. ‘I’ll give an interview,’ she said, holding up her hands to the two members of the media. They spun around, eyes lighting up when they saw her. Immediately the camera flashed. Dwayne would kill her for talking to the press before consulting him but … ‘Only if you promise to leave Flynn and his sister out of it.’

  As she spoke, Flynn turned to face the group and their eyes met. For a tormenting second she saw something there apart from anger. Was it regret? He quickly tugged the brim of his Akubra down to cover his eyes and whispered something to Lucy. Ellie could see the teenager was close to tears but she nodded and ran into the hall.

  ‘Don’t contact me again,’ called Flynn as he headed back to his ute. Ellie wasn’t sure whether he was speaking to the journalists or her. Probably both. The ute started and its engine revved. Flynn did a three-point turn and sped off in the direction of his farm, leaving nothing but a blur of red dust.

  Ellie addressed the eager journalists. ‘I’m going to take my godmother into the hall and then I’ll be back.’

  ‘We’ll be waiting,’ replied the woman.

  I’ll bet.

  ‘You want me to stay with you?’ asked Matilda as Ellie took hold of the wheelchair once again.

  ‘Nope, you go inside and get everyone focused on the auditions instead of on Flynn and me. This is embarrassing.’

  ‘It’s not your fault,’ said Matilda firmly.

  Ellie shrugged. ‘They’re just doing their job. If I speak to them, hopefully they’ll go away, or at least leave Flynn alone.’ For a moment she wondered if Dwayne had been right. Maybe she should have stayed in Sydney and simply ensured Matilda had competent hired help.

  ‘Vultures,’ Matilda spat as Ellie wheeled her past the journalists. They jumped back as if they’d been slapped.

  As they entered the hall, Ellie was all too aware that the conversation dimmed. Some people stared while others looked pointedly away. She didn’t know which was worse. She pushed Matilda in the direction of Mrs Ellery, who was holding a clipboard and waving one arm as she chatted to a couple of people near the stage.

  Mrs Ellery’s eyes lit up when they caught sight of Ellie. ‘Elenora!’ She thrust the clipboard on the woman next to her and held out her arms. ‘My star pupil. Have you come to join the group?’

  Ellie allowed a quick hug, although she couldn’t relax in the other woman’s embrace. Nothing about being in this town felt right anymore. She couldn’t forget that Eileen’s opinion of her was the minority one. ‘No,’ she answered, extracting herself. ‘I’ve got some … umm … things I need to attend to. Can I leave Matilda in your hands?’

  ‘Of course, my dear,’ Mrs Ellery gushed. ‘We’re so glad you brought Mat along. The group wouldn’t be the same without her.’

  As Mrs Ellery stooped to consult Matilda about the program for the day, Ellie slipped back outside. It was too much to hope the journalists had grown bored and left. Sure enough, they were waiting to pounce the second she exited the building. Ellie made a silent vow to keep control and make sure she led the interview. She addressed the two as one. ‘Let’s go down to the park and talk. I haven’t got long.’

  As they trotted down the road, the short and stumpy woman tried to make friends with Ellie, chatting about her character on Lake Street and how devastated she’d been to hear Stella was taking a break.

  ‘You will be back though, won’t you?’ asked the journo-fan. ‘After your godmother has recovered, that is?’

  ‘The interview will start at the park,’ answered Ellie.

  That shut her up. She knew she sounded frosty, but right now Ellie couldn’t care less. Her mind was like a DVD frozen on the one scene, unable to move on. All she saw was Flynn’s face for that brief moment he’d acknowledged her. Stupidly, for that minute moment in time, she’d forgotten their lives had moved on, forgotten she no longer had the right to run up to Flynn and fall into his arms. Her chest throbbed at the thought.

  The three walked in silence, attracting the odd stare as a car slowed down to see if it really was Ellie Hughes returned. Country folk loved their gossip, and there was a particular validation from seeing certain things with your own eyes.

  When they reached Apex Park, Ellie knew she couldn’t put the journalists off any longer. She felt uncomfortable with the subject matter, guilty for not running this past Dwayne first. Bar that one journalist aeons ago, no one had ever asked her about Flynn. She had no rote answers for this.

  Ellie sat down on one side of a picnic table and waited for the two to sit. ‘Okay, this is how it’s going to work. I agree to answer three questions. You choose them carefully and promise that if I talk to you, you’ll stop bothering Flynn Quartermaine.’

  ‘So, you do still care?’ The Lake Street fan grinned like she’d just won a Walkley Award.

  Ellie looked at the woman. ‘Is that your first question?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Of course I care.’ Ellie swallowed but it didn’t clear the dry feeling in her throat. ‘Flynn Quartermaine was a huge part of my life. I came to Hope Junction a broken teenager. I was a mess but Flynn and Matilda, my godmother, saw past the damage to what was inside. They helped me heal. Although Flynn and I didn’t work out, he’ll always hold a special place in my heart.’

  ‘If he meant so much, why did you leave him standing at the altar?’ asked the second reporter.

  ‘Ever heard of cold feet?’ she said, trying to keep her voice calm. ‘I was nineteen. I was in love but I was scared. I beli
eve I do is forever and, to be honest,’ she hesitated, thinking through the ramifications of her words, ‘I wasn’t sure I could spend my life in a small town indefinitely. I wanted to explore. I wanted to see the world.’

  It was a blatant lie, but it was what everyone already believed and, therefore, convenient. The truth was far more distressing, something she couldn’t let herself think about in front of these gossip-hungry strangers.

  ‘How did Flynn cope after you left?’

  Both reporters were scribbling her words in their notebooks. They were just as Matilda had accused – vultures. They’d love to hear the truth about Flynn and cast her as the villain. She knew how the media worked. Australia had loved her for far too long, and any journalist would be stoked to write the story that brought the star down. Not to mention that rural Australia was all the rage at the moment. Farmer Wants a Wife had glamorised the Aussie men and women who worked the land in circumstances of drought, flood and other unkind conditions. The country would be extremely sympathetic to Flynn’s story. A zillion women would write to him offering to mend his broken heart.

  ‘He coped fine, as far as I know,’ replied Ellie, lifting her chin and trying not to give away any kind of emotion. Another lie.

  There was a silence – they expected more. Ellie kept her mouth shut, looking from one reporter to the other. She couldn’t help feeling a tad victorious.

  ‘I’m afraid you’ve wasted your time coming here. This story was over long ago. Flynn won’t talk to you, and neither will the residents of Hope. I’ve returned simply to look after my godmother, who fell a week ago, spraining one ankle and breaking the other. She’ll be well again soon and I’ll be back on the set of Lake Street. And I think that’s our questions done.’

  The journos shook their heads at Ellie’s saccharine smile, shoving their notebooks into their bags. ‘Thanks for your time,’ offered the one who loved Lake Street. ‘Give your godmother our best wishes.’