by Trish Morey
And then he’d cradled her in his arms and listened as she’d shivered and poured out her shock and her despair and her helplessness and her tears. He remembered nodding as he’d held her, before he’d uttered those two stupid words.
‘I know.’
‘What do you mean, you know?’
‘Not a lot. I just overheard someone talking once.’
‘Who?’
‘Does it matter? It was a long time ago and I wasn’t even sure I’d heard right.’
‘And you didn’t think, in all the years we’ve known each other, to tell me? You didn’t think that the girl you professed to love might be interested to hear that snippet?’
Before he knew what hit him, she’d turned from a sobbing mess of grief to a blonde ball of rage and all he knew was that he was the baddie.
And the engagement that had never been announced was off and the scholarship to Sydney Uni was back on the agenda and she was leaving.
He’d never understood what had happened. Not really. Only that it was all suddenly his fault – the accident, Gerald, the mystery of her real father, everything – and she couldn’t get away from him fast enough.
And now she was still saying that. What the hell had she expected him to say? What if what he’d heard had been wrong? Why the hell would he throw a grenade into his best friend’s life like that? He glanced over at her, sitting silent and sullen and unrepentant.
Well, so was he – unrepentant – and if she couldn’t understand that, it was her problem.
Pip’s phone beeped and she looked at it, hoping it was something from Carmen that might cheer her up.
She rolled her eyes. Chad. But of course it would be him. It was still early bird time in New York and Chad, of course, would be up catching worms in the just opened London market.
How’re the wheels?
Nice. Thanks for asking how she was.
Not moving.
Let him make of that what he would. Then she found the photo of her and Adam from the christening and pinged it off to Carmen, who would no doubt check her phone before her early pump class. She smiled. Carmen would get a kick out of this one.
By the time she’d done that, Chad was texting again, wondering what was wrong with the car and his question was like a mosquito buzzing and she wondered what the hell she was even doing with him. They’d been ‘together’ – if you could call it that – for twelve months now. But maybe their convenient relationship had just about reached its use-by date.
She turned her phone off as Luke slowed the car, the indicator ticking, and looked up as he took the turn onto the gravel road that led across the peninsula towards Tracey and Craig’s farm. The sun was dipping lower, the white glare of summer giving way to a ruby glow. There were still some crops to be harvested here in the centre of the peninsula, and the grain swayed and shifted in formation like flocks of birds in the sky, turning the crop into a lake of gold.
God it was beautiful.
She’d forgotten this kind of summer, where the air was clear and dry and tasted of harvest and not of exhaust fumes and steam from the subway and bags of garbage piled up in the street.
Nearly there. She breathed out, wishing that harvest and summer didn’t come with the scent of the man beside her. Warm and masculine and musky.
She looked at Turbo, stretched longwise on the seat between them with his head on his paws, and found a wry smile.
Then again, she kidded herself, maybe it was just the dog that smelled so good.
Across the paddocks she could just make out the windmill standing tall over the farm. And she had a sudden panicked thought. From what she’d heard, men weren’t supposed to talk a lot to other men, but still . . .
She licked her lips. ‘You won’t tell anyone what happened out there?’ She’d die if he told anyone.
‘You mean about you suggesting that my dad and your mum had a fling, you mean? No, I’m hardly likely to share that with anyone anytime soon. Personally I’d rather just blot it out, myself.’
God, did she have to spell it out? ‘No. I meant what happened in the shed. When . . .’
‘Hell Pip, what do you think I’m going to do? Slap it up on Facebook or something? It was just a bloody kiss. If you could even call it that.’
‘It was a mistake.’
He grunted. ‘I think we’re both agreed on that.’
‘Besides,’ she said, licking her lips and thinking that maybe she should set some boundaries. Maybe a little late, but . . . ‘There’s someone back in New York. A friend. A man friend.’
‘Is that some longwinded New Yorkified way of telling me you’ve got a boyfriend?’
‘Yeah. His name’s Chad and he’s a stockbroker and he’s really successful.’
‘He sounds like quite a catch. I’d snap him up, if I were you.’
‘Thanks for the advice. I’ll give it some thought.’
Luke mulled over what she’d said for a few moments, rolling her words this way and that in his mind, testing them.
‘Did you tell Adam Rogers about your successful stockbroking man friend?’
‘What?’
‘You remember Adam, Pip. He was the guy you were all over at the christening, getting all chummy and taking selfies together. Was that to send home to Chad then?’
Pip pushed back in her seat. ‘No. That was for . . . another friend.’
‘Another . . . man friend?’
‘What is your point?’
‘Just curious. Only that I didn’t see you warning Adam off about your special friend back in New York City. Could it be that Chad is just an imaginary friend, Pip?
‘Sorry to disappoint you, but Chad’s real, Luke. Very real.’
‘Only not real enough to warn Adam about.’
‘Adam didn’t kiss me.’
‘Well he sure looked like he wouldn’t say no.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
‘What colour are Adam’s eyes, Pip?’
‘Why?’
He shrugged. ‘Just curious. I mean, small towns ’n’ all. What did his dad do? Oh, that’s right,’ he continued, not waiting for an answer. ‘He was a copper too, wasn’t he. Must have known just about everyone in town. And you know how things can happen, between consenting adults and all. Ah, here we go.’
He pulled the car into the driveway that led to the big turnaround area beside the house. The dogs came running and Turbo stood to attention, ears pricked, ready for action.
Craig was kneeling out front by the white house fence, pumping up a tyre on one of the kids’ bikes and Pip saw him look up at the ute’s approach, a frown knitting his brow.
‘Luke Trenorden,’ she said, holding her crockery chips in one hand as she swung the door open and climbed out with Turbo in close pursuit, ‘I do believe you’re jealous.’
‘Ha,’ he called after her. ‘You wish.’ But curse the woman to hell and back, she had a point.
Craig nodded as Pip walked by, and then wandered over to the ute, leaning his butt against the front fender and wiping his hands. ‘Trace said you’d offered Pip a lift. I told her she must have been dreaming.’
‘Not dreaming.’ More like a nightmare.
‘So where’s the Audi?’
‘Someone forgot her car key.’
Craig smiled and looked over at the house where Pip had disappeared. ‘Get out of here. So, er, where you guys been all this time then?’
Luke scowled and scooted imaginary dust from his pants. ‘I showed her that furniture I’ve been storing. Thought it was about time someone worked out what to do with it.’
‘Yeah? Any good?’
‘Pip seems to think it might be useful for Trace in the B&B. I don’t think she plans on carting it all the way back to New York.’
‘Nah. Guess not.’ He looked up at the sky.
‘Hey, it’s getting late. You want to stay for dinner? Got a leg of lamb in the Weber. Pip can’t get enough of it apparently. Trace won’t mind one more.’
‘Nope. I don’t think Pip would appreciate that. I’ve just been on the receiving end of the boyfriend-back-in-New York lecture. I wouldn’t want her to think I was stalking her or something.’
Craig’s eyebrow arched. ‘What did you try to deserve that then?’
‘Beats me,’ he lied.
‘Well, from what Trace says, this Brad bloke –’
‘Chad.’
‘What?’
‘His name is Chad. Not Brad.’
‘Oh, right, anyway, he’s not really a boyfriend so much as a sleepover friend.’
‘What?’
‘You know. What do they call it? Friends with benefits?’
‘You mean like a fuck buddy?’
Craig’s eyes opened wide. ‘Is that what they call it these days? Boy, am I out of the loop.’
‘Anyway,’ Luke said, having heard enough, ‘I better get going.’ He whistled for his dog and Turbo came barrelling around the back of the house with the other dogs barking madly behind him, looking like he was having the time of his life and surely his master must be joking.
‘A fuck buddy, huh,’ he said, as he pulled out of the driveway and onto the dirt road to the highway. ‘Maybe that’s our problem.’ Turbo whimpered and looked up at him as if he was on the same wavelength, as he tried not to think about how long it had been. ‘Maybe that’s what we both need.’
Pip was digging in the fridge for that half-empty bottle of wine she knew was there somewhere when Tracey came in and found her.
‘Hey,’ she said, as Pip straightened, pulling out the bottle and grabbing a glass from the cupboard. And then her eyes widened. ‘Bloody hell,’ she said, taking in the dog haired dress, messy hair and scuffed shoes. ‘What happened to you?
‘Luke happened to me.’ And then she put a finger to her lips and shook her head and said, ‘No. Don’t ask.’ She waved the bottle. ‘You want one of these?’
‘No, but then I’ve got a feeling there might not be enough for the both of us in that bottle.’
Pip shook it to gauge how much was left inside. ‘We got any more of this?’
‘Is the Pope a Catholic?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t care. So long as he doesn’t want any of my wine.’
Tracey frowned. ‘Oh boy. We are so going to have a good lunch tomorrow.’
‘What lunch?’
‘Fi called and suggested lunch at the pub if she’s up to it, seeing she had to leave early today and the funeral’s on Wednesday. She wants to see you as much as she can before you go, and we thought maybe lunch. Possible?’
She nodded. ‘Lunch with the girls is a very good idea.’ She needed to talk to women. Women who knew her and her past and wouldn’t judge her. Or maybe just wouldn’t judge her too harshly. ‘And while we’re there, if it’s not too much trouble, maybe you can drop me off at the nursing home to pick up the Audi.’
Tracey glanced out the window. ‘But I thought Luke was dropping you there this afternoon.’
She shook her head sadly. ‘That was the plan, wasn’t it?’ Even if it had never been a good one.
‘What happened?’
Pip gulped down some wine before topping up her glass on a long sigh. ‘Someone who shall remain nameless changed purses and forgot the sodding car key, didn’t she.’
‘Ah,’ and Tracey suppressed a grin and looked her over again, taking in her dust scuffed dress and shoes and her wayward hair. ‘So, you’ve been with Luke this whole time, huh?’
‘Yup.’
‘Doing what?’
Pip glared at her friend over her glass. ‘He took me out to his place. Turns out he’s been storing some furniture for me.’ She paused. ‘I hadn’t expected . . . Trace, I didn’t know about the house being bulldozed.’
‘Oh god. You didn’t know? I’m so sorry, we only learned about it one day when we drove by a couple of years back and it was already gone. But I didn’t think . . . I didn’t realise –’
‘It’s okay,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘Why should anyone have told me? We hadn’t lived there for years and it never really was ours. I just wasn’t expecting . . .’
Tracey frowned and put a hand to Pip’s shoulder, rubbing it. ‘So how was it?’
‘Rough,’ she answered honestly, shaking her head. ‘It felt like the first eighteen years of my life had been wiped from the face of the earth.’
‘I’m so sorry you weren’t warned.’
She shrugged. ‘Luke took me to the old stone mounds where they’d piled up the rubble and I found a few bits of Gran’s old crockery.’ She waved her glass in the direction of the few bits she’d put on a corner of the big table when she’d come in. Her friend frowned. ‘Mad, I know, but I couldn’t leave them there. Anyhow, somehow a few bits of furniture survived with Luke and they look okay. I thought they might do for the B&B if you can use them.’ She pulled out her phone and found the photos she’d snapped. ‘Our old kitchen sideboard would look so good on that blank wall, and there’s our old Singer treadle sewing machine and Gran’s old writing bureau. They’d be brilliant, Trace, if you could fit them in, and I’d be so happy if they could find a home.’
Tracey’s eyes opened wide as she flicked through the photos. ‘I remember that kitchen dresser.’ She looked at the slivers and curves of crockery on the table. ‘Wow. It was so pretty with all that blue and white crockery on display. But are you sure you don’t want to take them with you? So you have a piece of your history over there?’
‘No. There’s no room where I live and they wouldn’t fit the decor anyway. It would be pointless.’
‘Okay. Then how about I agree to look after them for you, until you come back.’
‘Trace, really?’
‘Yeah, really,’ her friend said with a grin. ‘Until you come back. Never say never.’
Chapter Seventeen
The spa was deep and delicious and bubbly. The riesling was smooth and fruity and still. The scented candles were lit and delicately perfuming the air. A blissful combination. Pip rested her head back on a rolled up towel on the edge of the spa and closed her eyes and let the jets massage her weary body. It had been a long day. She so deserved this.
Her phone pinged and she glanced at it. Carmen. She was smiling even before she opened the message.
OMG! He’s gorgeous!
He’s okay. Yeah.
So?
So what?
!!!
Pip giggled.
???
Are you seeing him again?
I don’t know. Maybe.
Holiday fling?
Pip’s thumb hesitated. There wasn’t a whole lot of time left for any kind of fling, even if he wasn’t from around here. And even if he wasn’t . . .
When he’d supported her arm going into church he’d smelled good, and when he’d wrapped his arm around her to take the selfie he’d felt warm and strong. It had been nice to have a little male attention when Luke’s arrival had sent her senses into a tailspin.
But he hadn’t made her heart race, like Luke had, when his eyes had been on her mouth and his lips mere centimetres away. He hadn’t made her blood fizz and her senses tingle. He hadn’t made her have to fight to keep control.
But then she and Luke had history. He was bound to set her senses to red alert.
Nah. Saving him for you.
A souvenir? For me?
He thinks you’re cute.
Huh?
I showed him your selfie on the sofa.
Oh no! I looked like a dork!
I think he likes dorks.
You just ruined a beautiful romance. Hey, gotta run. xx
Pip sent kisses back
and then put her phone down on the side table and rested her head back on the towel, wanting to wipe her memory clean of everything after the christening.
Well, maybe not the furniture and that feeling of being back in their big old kitchen when she’d opened the door of the dresser. Strange how she’d filed away that memory without even registering it. Strange that it had the power to transport her back to the past in a moment.
To when times were good.
To when she’d had her family around her.
To before.
But as for the arguments and the handholding and that damned kiss that should never have happened. What was that about? What was she thinking?
That was the problem right there.
Because she hadn’t been thinking at all.
She’d been sideswiped by that damned emotion and there hadn’t been room for thinking.
Fool.
If only she could wipe it all clean.
Wipe away the mistakes and the blunders as thoroughly as they’d wiped away any trace of her old home.
On a whim she picked up her phone again and flicked to the photos she’d taken, scrolling through them, the sewing machine table, the writing bureau and the dresser, smiling until she reached the one where she’d captured Luke’s reflection in the glass. He’d moved away so she could take her photos but she’d caught him standing behind her, his white shirt undone at the collar, his shoulders broad and the tilt of his head telling her he’d been watching her. A tremor, warm and tingling, rolled through her.
What had he been thinking? A minute later they’d been kissing.
And if she hadn’t stopped him?
Thank god she’d stopped him.
Five minutes more and there’d have been no doubt what he’d be thinking.
She hauled herself out of the spa, remembering Luke’s face set like stone in his outrage. In his deadset rejection of the possibility that his dad and her mum could have had an affair.