The Runaway Ex

by Shani Struthers

  “You haven’t changed a bit. You look fantastic.”

  Tara smiled at him, a smile that made her look like a kid, not the thirty-year-old woman she was. It was the first real smile Layla had seen on her face.

  “Jim,” she said, closing the gap between them. “It’s good to see you too.”

  Jim threw his arms around her, and they hugged—and hugged and hugged. Good thing Hannah was back in Trecastle, thought Layla. She might have something to say about the length of time they were spending hugging. Then again, they were old friends. They shared history together—Tara and Jim, Tara and Joseph. Layla felt even more of an outsider.

  After piling their luggage into the back, they climbed into the car.

  “You sit up front,” Joseph had urged Tara, one thing Layla was grateful for.

  In the back seat, Joseph’s hand reached across to hold hers. Briefly, Layla considered snatching her hand back but decided against it. The situation was tense enough. She really didn’t want to inflame it further.

  Jim chatted happily while he drove, either oblivious to any atmosphere in the car or choosing to ignore it—probably the latter. He told them all about his band’s next round of gigs in a fortnight, kick-starting in Exeter and ending in Edinburgh. He talked about Hannah too, telling Tara how much she’d like her—that everybody liked her. Layla zoned out, staring out of the window instead. This route to Cornwall was a meaningful one for her, one she had taken many times with her mother as a child and then again when she had bolted down just over two years ago—on the run from Alex. And here she was again, accompanying a runaway this time.

  Still, it was a journey she loved, the green hills on either side of the road as rugged as the men in the car, strewn with rocks and boulders, reminding her of just how wild this part of Cornwall was. Not like the south, where it was more pretty than rugged—“Champagne Cornwall,” as Joseph dubbed it. This was the real thing. It was natural up here, unkempt almost, and all the more beautiful because of it.

  Leaving the dual carriageway, they traveled tiny, twisting roads instead. Jim handled them expertly, still laughing up front with Tara.

  What was it that had drawn Tara back here? Layla was dying to know. And what was so important she needed Joseph with her—his strength to strengthen her? Was there really no significant other in Australia? She had been there for years. Five, she had said, or was it six? Had she formed no significant attachments in that time? Australia was history; she didn’t intend going back. Yet all she had with her was a rucksack. It wasn’t much to show for a life lived elsewhere.

  This part of the journey always passed quickly, and before long, Layla could see signposts to Trecastle. Any minute now, the sea would come into view. It would look beautiful on a day like today, almost exactly the same shade as the sky, the dividing line between them barely if at all distinguishable. And in among gentle waves would be Gull Rock, her rock. One day she would reach it—or perhaps it was better to let it always remain out of reach. Up close it might not look so impressive; it might look ugly and scarred instead. She shifted uncomfortably at the thought.

  “You okay?” asked Joseph, noticing.

  “Fine.” She smiled, trying to mean it this time.

  Soon they were entering the village itself, bypassing the spot where she had first met Joseph—crashed into him more accurately, knocking him off his trail bike on her first wet and windy day in Trecastle while executing a three-point turn in her beloved red Mazda. It was some introduction, she thought, her face softening at the memory.

  Joseph squeezed her hand. Was he remembering too?

  The main road that ran through the village—the high street, the locals called it, although it was actually called Castle Street, named for the twelfth-century ruins that dominated the cliff top—was quiet on this March afternoon. It wouldn’t liven up until the next holiday season, Easter. Then the tourists would swarm in, the owners of pubs, restaurants, and shops eagerly anticipating their influx. Although a tiny village, it was the castle, steeped in myth and legend, that drew the visitors here—the castle as well as the glorious beach it overlooked, one of the finest in Cornwall. Enclosed by granite cliffs, Trecastle Strand was a gorgeous swathe of golden sand, as good as any Mediterranean beach. Better, in fact, because the caves in the cliffs made it more interesting. They were dark and mysterious, hiding secrets of their own.

  Conveniently, the beach was only a ten-minute walk from the village, down to the end of Castle Street, then down again via a steep hill, green hills rising up either side of it, yellow gorse adding a glorious dash of color. You could either drive down to it, although parking was limited at the beach, or leave your car in the village and hop aboard the Land Rover service that ran during the summer. It surprised her how many perfectly fit young people made use of the Land Rover and how many older people chose to get the exercise instead.

  They drew up outside Hannah and Jim’s flat, the bottom half of a Victorian terrace, the only row of Victorian houses in Trecastle. Most of the buildings were later than that, although some were older, an eclectic mix. Immediately, the front door opened.

  “Layla,” Hannah yelled. Her golden-brown hair, shoulder-length like Jim’s and almost exactly the same color, flew behind her as she sprinted up the pathway.

  She grabbed the door handle, yanked it open, and virtually pulled Layla out of the car. “I’ve missed you so much.”

  Layla smiled. As her hand had clung to Joseph’s in the car, she now clung to her best friend—her other best friend—glad that Hannah, like her, didn’t know Tara either.

  The two boys and Tara came around to stand on the pavement beside them. Flanked by their breadth and height, Layla noticed how fragile Tara looked.

  Breaking away, Hannah approached Joseph next. “Hi,” she said, briefly hugging him too.

  Layla wondered if it was going to be okay crashing at Hannah and Jim’s flat, or whether it might be painful for Hannah. Although it had been a long time since Hannah and Joseph had split up, it had taken her even longer to get over him. Would his close proximity dredge up old feelings? Despite being with the delectable Jim—and he really was delectable, with his smoky green eyes and lazy smile—Hannah had pined for Joseph. Jim knew that but was prepared to accept it, not because he was weak but because he’d take Hannah any way he could get her.

  The turning point for Hannah had come just before Layla and Joseph had left for Florence. That’s when Jim had played his trump card. Unbeknown to Hannah, to everyone, he had written her a song—Angel’s Heart—and had played it in front of everyone at their friend Mick’s thirtieth birthday party in the Trecastle Inn. That song had touched everyone in the house, not just Hannah, and was now one of the songs featured on Jagged Shore. It had made Hannah realize what she had in Jim—an absolute gem—and to lay feelings outgrown to rest. At least Layla hoped so.

  “Come on.” Jim’s cheery voice filtered through her thoughts. “Let’s go in, get a drink.”

  All went to follow him, all except Tara.

  “Erm…” she began rather sheepishly. “Do you mind if I don’t? I’m really very tired. I just want to…to get home, see my parents.”

  Jim was about to say something, to protest, perhaps, but Joseph spoke first.

  “We don’t mind at all, Tara. It’s not a problem.”

  “But how will you get home?” Hannah looked genuinely puzzled. “You live in Port Levine, don’t you?”

  Joseph was quick to offer. “I’ll drive her there. Can I take the car, Jim?”

  Immediately Jim threw him the car keys. “It’s your car, mate. I’m just looking after it for you.”

  Layla swallowed—hard.

  Of course he was going to drive her home. She should have expected that.

  Joseph turned to her. “Is that okay, Layla? I won’t be long.”

  With four pairs of eyes staring at her, what could she say? No, it isn’t okay. None of this is okay. There’s something about it that actually feels very un-okay.
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  Instead she replied, “Sure. There’s no rush.”

  Joseph reached across and kissed her on the cheek. He looked—how did he look? Proud of her? Yes, that was it, definitely. She’d never felt such a fraud.

  Tara said good-bye to them all and hopped back into the car. Again she looked fragile, lost almost. Layla started to feel the first stirrings of sympathy. And then she stopped. Don’t be taken in by her. Not yet. Not until you know the full story.

  The full story? That was something she didn’t think she’d ever know.

  Chapter Eight

  IT WAS A FEW MINUTES into their journey before Tara spoke.

  “This isn’t easy for you, is it? I mean with Layla.”

  “Hey.” He reached across to cover her hand with his, only momentarily taking his eyes off the road so he could look at her too. “It’s not easy for you either.” After a moment, he added, “That’s why I’m here.”

  “But I don’t want to cause trouble.”

  “You won’t. You haven’t. Look, don’t worry about it. Please.”

  But she did worry. Layla didn’t like her; it was obvious. And Tara didn’t blame her—who would? Layla probably thought she had designs on Joseph, wanted to inveigle her way into his affections again. How wrong she was. It was Aiden she longed for, his dark smoldering eyes, the way he looked at her so intently, as though he couldn’t bear to tear his gaze from her, not even for a moment, that satisfied half-smile on his face after they’d made love. This longing for him was worse than she had anticipated. She ached—every inch of her. She loved this man, too, sitting beside her. Of course she did. A part of her had never stopped loving him, but it was in a different way entirely. She had never felt about anyone the way she felt about Aiden, lost to her forever now, a million miles away, or as good as.

  When she had first arrived in Australia, she had spent a lot of time backpacking, living on savings and money her parents had given her for the trip—insisting she take it while they had it to give. They’d rather live to see her and her sister enjoy their inheritance than leave it to them in their will. She had met a lot of people backpacking, had quickly forged friendships with them, hanging out on the beach, in bars, traveling in cars and on coaches across great tracts of land under skies that seemed so much bigger than the skies in England, though how that was possible no one seemed to know. Weeks turned into months turned into years as time flew by. And then she had met Aiden, after coming full circle to Sydney—or close to Sydney. Lyons Bay, to be precise, his hometown. Why she had chosen to stop there, she didn’t know. She’d intended to find work as a waitress in the big city itself, but en route, the fabulous stretch of golden sand and lively vibe of the small seaside town had grabbed her attention, maybe because it reminded her so much of Cornwall. It was funny, she remembered thinking, you come all this way to find things not so different after all.

  Aiden had been on the beach, enjoying the blistering day, chatting with a group of friends, splashing in the surf, riding the waves, brilliant at it as all Ozzies seemed to be. She had noticed him straightaway, had been studying him furtively from her vantage point higher up on the sands, grateful that her Ray-Bans covered her prying eyes. When he had finally noticed her, she had pretended to be surprised.

  “Hey,” he had said, wandering up to where she was sitting with a group of friends she’d only just met—their English heritage the common bond. “How you doing?”

  Gina, one of the group, had started giggling.

  “Who does he think he is?” she had stage-whispered to Tara. “Joey from Friends?”

  Tara had smiled too and then told him she was doing fine.

  “Mind if I sit beside you for a while? I just spent an age out in the ocean, and my legs feel like they’re about to give way.”

  “Oh, really, have you?” she had replied, well aware she was fooling no one. He had spied her watching him, and she’d known it. Thankfully, he hadn’t seemed to mind.

  As he had introduced himself, she had relished the twang of his accent and the smile not only on his face but also in his velvet eyes. She had also loved the broadness of his shoulders, his washboard stomach, his sun-kissed skin, a whole catalog of things.

  As they had sat there, the pair of them, smiling goofily at each other, the group had gradually broken up, some heading toward the sea, others in search of a drink.

  “Do you want a drink too?” he had asked her, motioning to Right on the Beach, the café directly behind them. “It’s on the house if you do.”

  “Oh?” She had cocked her head to one side. “How come?”

  “Because I own it, and for you, gorgeous, everything’s on the house.”

  Eventually, they had wandered over together, grabbed two bottles of ice-cold beer from the fridge inside, and found themselves a shaded spot to drink them in. One bottle of beer had turned into two, the day began to fade, and night had fallen. Still they had talked—couldn’t stop talking. There was nothing more interesting to her in the world that night than the man sitting opposite her. Everything about him had fascinated her, from the way he laughed to the way his face grew serious when she was the one doing the talking. As the sun rose the next day, they were still on the beach but this time sitting side by side, his arm wrapped round her, her head on his shoulder. As morning bloomed, she had sensed the world around her was set to change yet again; the adventure she had embarked on was ramping itself up a notch.

  Aiden had helped her find some digs near the café—just a room, nothing fancy—and offered her a job as a waitress at his café if she wanted it. She had. They started to spend every day and night together. She needn’t have rented a room, really, since she had stayed over at his apartment most nights—nights they had spent in contented bliss, exploring each other to the full, minds as well as bodies. Soon, she had given the room up and moved in with him.

  “Don’t worry about traveling,” he had assured her. “We can still do that. The café will be okay with Caro and Den running it. We can take off wherever you want. Have you seen Ayers Rock yet?”

  She had, but she had wanted to see it with him, to marvel together at the grandeur of the sandstone monolith. To witness the different personalities it took on during sunrise and sunset, the many different hues. At first subtle, then blindingly bright. She had wanted to feel the romance of it. Having seen it before with a bunch of near strangers, it had missed that particular quality for her. With him, it had been intense.

  She had already known love with Joseph. She didn’t dare think she’d strike gold twice, not so soon after him, but that’s exactly what she had done. Two perfect years she had spent with Aiden, on that beach, in the café, traveling whenever they could, living the life she had dreamed of before the dream had grown teeth.

  “Tara, we’re here.”

  What? So soon?

  He was right. They were outside her parents’ cottage. There it was in front of them, picture-postcard pretty, whitewashed walls gleaming in the sun, wide instead of tall, and with a slate roof her father was forever mending. A large, equally pretty garden surrounded the detached house, and a winding path led to the front door, painted a bold shade of purple, her mum’s favorite color.

  “Oh God,” she breathed.

  Joseph killed the engine and turned to her.

  “Tara, you can do this.”

  She was glad of his faith in her, because she wasn’t so sure.

  “Tara—”

  “I know,” she interrupted. “Just give me a minute. Please.”

  A moment of silence passed, then two, then three. Moments that seemed endless.

  Roger and Lily Mills were in that house, just a few feet away. Her dad she imagined in his favorite armchair by the hearth in the living room, wading through some broadsheet he walked down to fetch every morning from the village store. Her mother would be in the kitchen—she loved baking—or indulging in her second favorite hobby, knitting. She was forever knitting items for local fêtes; her brightly colored cashmere socks we
re in hot demand. As much as Tara longed to see them, she hated to break the idyll of their lives. And she would; there was no doubt about it. She would tear it apart, destroy it. No, no, she couldn’t do this. She should never have come back. But where else could she have gone? Who else would have her if not her parents? She couldn’t wander forever, despite what she had thought.

  Home, it’s where the heart is, where you return when the going gets tough, if you’re lucky enough to have a home. And she was. Roger and Lily had brought her and Leo up in the most loving of family environments. Strange, then, that she had been so desperate to leave, heading to London when she was eighteen and then to Australia some years later. And now she had returned. The prodigal daughter.

  “Okay, I’m ready.”

  “Sure?”

  He looked so concerned. Yes, she had been incredibly lucky in life; she couldn’t deny it. Perhaps that’s why luck had run out on her; you were only ever dealt so much.

  “I’m sure.”

  “Do you want me to come in with you?”

  “You mean shock them even more by turning up out of the blue after all these years and with my ex-boyfriend in tow? They’ll think we’ve got hitched or something.”

  Joseph raised an eyebrow. “I see your point,” he conceded before adding, “It would be nice to see your parents again, though. They’re good people.”

  “They liked you too, Joe. They were so disappointed when we split up.”

  “They weren’t the only ones,” Joseph replied, but lightheartedly. His next words were more serious. “Don’t keep them in the dark too long, will you, Tara?”