The Runaway Ex

by Shani Struthers

  “Your bags, where are they? Daddy will get them.” Her mother was fussing again.

  “It’s okay,” Tara insisted. “I haven’t got any bags, just a rucksack. I can manage.”

  “Let’s get you inside, then,” her mother conceded. “I’ll put the kettle on.”

  Ah, yes, English tea. Now that she’d love.

  Tara followed her mother through to the kitchen. The woman was at sixes and sevens, reaching for the kettle, then the biscuit tin, then wondering where the “special” tea bags where, the posh ones she had got from the supermarket in Bodmin as opposed to the generic ones the village store sold. Tara had to urge her to calm down.

  “But how long are you staying?” her mother couldn’t resist asking. “Say it’s more than one or two days. I…It’s just so lovely to see you.”

  One or two days? It would be longer than that. But telling her she’d come home for good would only excite her more. She would reveal all—in time.

  “Definitely more than one or two days, Mum. If you’ll have me, that is.”

  “Don’t be silly.” Lily batted lightly at her daughter’s arm. “This is your home. It always has been, and it always will be. Stay for as long as you like.”

  Tara smiled her thanks. Her father came into the kitchen, and after staring at each other for a few moments, the three of them hugged some more.

  “Oh,” said Lily, finally breaking away. “If only Leo was here. Wouldn’t it be perfect, Roger? Our two girls back home, all of us together again.”

  “How is Leo?” Tara asked as her mother busied herself with the tea making and her father pulled up a chair.

  “She’s doing very well, darling. Loves living in Penzance. She’s made a lot of friends there. Likes her job too.”

  “Good, I’m glad.”

  “When was the last time you spoke to her?” enquired Roger.

  Tara thought for a moment. “About a month or two ago, maybe more.”

  Again, she’d left it too long. But then, she’d had a lot on her mind recently.

  “I know,” her mother said, her face beaming. “We’ll give Leo a call later, let her know you’re here. She might be able to get a few days off. I’m sure Driftwood can spare her for a short while, although they’re such a busy shop. She says it’s heaving most days.”

  “Mum.” Tara hoped she didn’t sound too uncharitable. “Can we just leave it at us for a short while? It’s been years since I’ve had you all to myself. I know I sound selfish, and we’ll call Leo soon, but just for a while, can it be the three of us, please?”

  “Yes, dear, whatever you want,” Lily said, returning to the table. Her mother stared at her before asking, “Is everything okay?”

  How was she going to answer that? Tell them straightaway? That everything was not okay—far from it. She supposed now would be as good a time as any. Get it over and done with; reveal the truth, a truth that was starting to get the better of her. Looking at their faces, she couldn’t do it. Let their happiness last a little longer.

  “Everything’s fine, Mum. I’ve done a lot of traveling recently, and I’m jaded, that’s all.”

  “Of course, of course.” Her mother looked relieved. “After we’ve all had tea, I’ll get your room ready for you. Until then, tell us everything you’ve been up to.”

  Tara smiled, glad to talk of her travels in Italy, of what she’d seen. She omitted the part about meeting Joseph again in Florence. Telling them would raise suspicions when she wanted to keep their first hours together again simple. That too could wait.

  After her second cup of tea and several biscuits, a mixture of custard creams, and homemade shortbread, Tara and Lily made their way upstairs to her bedroom. It was just the same as when she’d left it at age eighteen to move to London. White wallpaper with tiny pink roses on it, a single bed with a pink quilt cover, and a pine side table with a lamp on it. The table was where she used to pile all her books, unable to fall asleep without reading at least one or two chapters of the latest blockbuster—Stephen King, Dean Koontz, Anne Rice. She’d had a taste for horror.

  There was also a pine wardrobe. She knew if she opened it, there would just be hangers rattling in the emptiness within. On the cream carpet was the fading evidence of the hot chocolate she’d knocked over as a teen, scrubbing desperately at it with water, just making it worse. She remembered her mother taking over, telling her not to worry, they could always get a small rug to cover up the stain. She was lovely like that, her mother, always so kind. As was her father. They didn’t deserve what she was going to do to them.

  “All okay for you?” Lily asked.

  “It’s perfect,” Tara replied. And then, unable to stem the flow of tears, her voice caught on a sob as she said, “It’s so good to be home, Mum. You’ve no idea.”

  Lily’s arms went round her straightaway. For a while, her mother just held her, but then she pushed her away slightly, although continuing to hold on to her shoulders.

  “Why are you home?” she asked, her eyes a faded denim rather than the bright blue they had once been.

  “Because…because I missed you. You and Dad. I needed to see you.”

  “But you never phoned to say you were coming.”

  “I thought it would be nice to surprise you.”

  Although the first part of that exchange was true, the second wasn’t. She hadn’t told them she was coming home in case she changed her mind at the last minute. And she might have, had it not been for Joseph.

  “It is a surprise, a wonderful surprise. But, Tara…” Her mother hesitated. Around her eyes, the lines and wrinkles deepened. “If there’s a problem, if something’s happened to you whilst you’ve been away, something…well, something not so good, don’t be afraid to tell us.”

  “Nothing’s happened, honest. Everything’s fine.” For now.

  Her mother sat down on the edge of the bed, smoothing her skirt as she did so.

  “What about this boyfriend of yours? Aiden? Why hasn’t he come over with you?”

  “Oh, Mum, we’re not joined at the hip, you know. Aiden and me, we can spend time apart.”

  “So, you’re still together?”

  “We’re…We still get on, yes.”

  “But are you still together? You know what I mean.”

  “Erm…no. No, we’re not.”

  She could have lied, but it would have been one lie too many.

  “Is that why you’re here? Why you’re so upset?”

  “Yes.”

  Not strictly a lie, it was one of the reasons.

  Lily shook her head. “What a shame. He sounded like such a nice young man.”

  “He was. He is. These things happen, though. You know that.”

  “They do indeed.” Lily sighed. “And you’re young. You’ll find love again.”

  No, I won’t. Instead of voicing that thought, she simply replied, “I know.”

  “Ooh, help me up,” said Lily, stretching out her hand, which Tara took in hers, relishing the softness of it. “I shouldn’t rush you. You’ll tell me everything in your own time; I know you will. You just need to find the right moment, that’s all. You were like that as a child—you liked to pick your moment. Not like Leo at all. Leo would just blurt out whatever was on her mind, sometimes in the most inappropriate of situations. Now, why don’t you freshen up whilst I go and make dinner? I think I know what you’d like—stargazy pie,” she said, referring to one of Tara’s favorite supper dishes, a mackerel pie with a pastry crust, a typical Cornish dish that was as spectacular as it was comforting. “Then you can regale us about all things Australian. You know, it’s a place I’ve always wanted to visit, but it seems so far away.”

  Tara laughed now, genuinely amused. “Mum, it is far away.”

  “I know, I know.” Lily laughed along with her. “A world away from here, that’s for sure.” Reaching out to touch her daughter’s hair, she added, “But I’m glad you’re not a world away anymore. It doesn’t matter the reason; I’m glad you�
��ve come back.”

  Wrapping a towel round her—a fluffy pink towel that her mother had neatly folded and left in the bathroom for her—Tara tiptoed with wet feet across the landing to her bedroom. Standing in front of a gilt-framed oval mirror hung to the right side of the wardrobe, she rubbed at her hair with a second towel. Being short and spiky, it wouldn’t take long to dry.

  Aiden would have loved her mum and dad. He had often said how much he was looking forward to meeting them.

  “We’ll have to go back soon and visit them,” he’d said. “I’ve never been to England.”

  “Yes, definitely,” she would reply, but time had slipped away from them. The café was always very busy, even in winter, and when they did have time off, there was always somewhere in Australia for them to fly to, some new sight to see.

  Lying in bed together one night, another night too hot to sleep, they had passed the hours talking instead, neither of them minding they’d be tired the next day, loving their nocturnal world, a world that felt like it belonged to them exclusively.

  “So, come on, tell me more about Cornwall,” he had told her, “about where you lived, what you used to get up to.”

  Aiden had loved hearing about the great surfing beaches of North Cornwall. As she spoke, he would lie back against the pillow, his arms above his head, soaking up every word. Trecastle was definitely one of the best beaches, she had told him, along with Polzeath, Crackington Haven, and Widemouth Bay. Surfers were out constantly, no matter what the weather, eager to pit their wits against the might of the ocean. The south had great beaches too, with some of the best breaks around. Occasionally she had traveled to Porthcurno and Porthleven with friends, even Praa Sands, just outside of Helstone, where she had once seen dolphins chase the last rays of sunlight. But it was World’s End that held her heart, which she found herself describing to him most often, a tiny but breathtaking bay not far from Port Levine, set off the main road and down a narrow single track. That was the beach she had grown up on, shunning the bigger bays with their shops selling ice cream, donuts, and brightly colored floats for a golden stretch of sand left largely untouched. She had hoped her descriptions would bring Port Levine and World’s End alive for him, but how successful she was, she didn’t know. Words couldn’t do justice to where she came from. It wasn’t just the way it looked; it was how it felt too, different from anywhere else in the UK, from the rest of the world, unique.

  “I can’t wait to go,” he had sighed. “Let’s go the next chance we get.”

  “Okay,” she had agreed, as excited as him at the prospect. It would be so much fun to show him her country as he had shown her his. But the “next chance” never came.

  She could feel her eyes water.

  No, don’t cry again. It’s over. Accept it.

  Try as she might to push memories of him away, they refused to lie low. As her mother had done earlier, she sat on the edge of her bed, hugging the towel to her.

  He hadn’t asked her to marry him that night when it had been just the two of them, content in the afterglow of coming together. No, that wasn’t Aiden’s way. He had asked her in front of everyone, in a packed café, going down on one knee, both hands clutched dramatically to his heart. He was like that, Aiden was, full of drama. That’s why his café was so popular. Like some light source in the night, his zest and drive attracted people, people who wanted to hang around him, who used the café as an excuse to stay close. She had found his light dazzling.

  “Everyone, can I have your attention?”

  She had been busy handing a customer his order of tuna baguette with fresh salad when Aiden had shouted those words out. Ensuring the plate was set safely on the table before whirling round, she had wondered what the heck he was up to.

  Aiden had stood less than a few feet from her, a beaming smile on his face.

  “You may not know this—” he had continued to address the crowds with great flourish “—she may not know this, but this beautiful lady standing right in front of me is the love of my life. The minute I saw her sitting on the beach out front in a bikini so skimpy I swear it was illegal—and if it’s not, it should have been—I knew I wanted to marry her.”

  “Aiden!” she had gasped. Her bikini had not been that skimpy, she was sure.

  Winking at her, he had turned to his café assistant, Den, next. “Music, Maestro, if you please.”

  Beaming too, Den had hit the play button on the CD machine, and “Truly, Madly, Deeply” by Savage Garden—one of their favorite songs—had blasted into being.

  Immediately, Aiden had fallen to one knee.

  “Ouch,” he had joked, pretending to wince in pain, “this position, it doesn’t get any easier.” When the laughter had died down, he had continued, “Seriously, folks, the reason I’m down here today—the first time I’ve ever been on bended knee, I promise—is not for the good of my health, although in a roundabout way, I suppose it is. It’s to ask my lovely lady if she will bestow on me a great honor.”

  Looking straight at her then, his brown eyes full of merriment but so much more as well, he had asked her that question. “Tara Mills, will you marry me?”

  Everyone in the café had held their breath. She had held her breath. For his part, Aiden hadn’t appeared to be breathing either. Her silence had continued far longer than she had intended it to. She had seen worry flicker across several faces, but not Aiden’s. Despite the fact his breath had caught, he had known he had no need to worry.

  “Yes,” she had said at last, her voice barely audible.

  “Sorry?” he had teased her. “I didn’t quite catch that.”

  “Yes.” She had said it much louder the second time, louder than the music even, which continued to play, and then she hadn’t been able to stop saying it. “Yes, yes, yes.”

  Jumping to his feet, Aiden had grabbed a Coke can off a nearby table, pulled the ring off it and held it out to her. Obviously he hadn’t second-guessed his actions either. To cries of delight, he had placed it almost reverentially on her finger.

  Holding her to him, he had whispered, “I’ll get you a proper ring soon, I promise.”

  And he had—a platinum band with diamonds all around it, even though she had protested, had said they couldn’t possibly afford such an extravagance. He had insisted, had said she was worth every penny spent and more. But she had treasured the Coke-can ring equally. She had kept it. It was in the bottom of her rucksack now, in the same box as the diamond ring, nestled side by side. All she had taken of their life together. Except for memories. And those she kept safe in her heart.

  Chapter Twelve

  THE LOOK ON LAYLA’S FACE when she had seen Penny at the dinner table last night had been a picture. Then again, what must she have looked like? Not the Penny from days of old, that was for sure. She hadn’t even looked in the mirror since running off in the Lanes like that, heading for home, throwing stuff, any stuff, into a suitcase, her only intention to escape—from Richard and, she felt terrible to admit, the baby too.

  Richard and Scarlett had come in after her. Realizing she wasn’t downstairs, he had gone upstairs looking for her. In the bedroom, Richard gently placed a struggling Scarlett in her crib while attempting to calm Penny. Sadly, he hadn’t done a good job.

  “Thanks for taking the car; I had to get a taxi home. Scarlett’s filled her nappy, and it’s a real humdinger too. I was going to catch the bus, but I honestly don’t think we’d have been let on. As it was, the taxi driver insisted we keep all the windows open.”

  “If her nappy’s dirty, change it,” Penny had snarled, grabbing her favorite skull T-shirt out of the built-in wardrobe and throwing it in the suitcase. Why, she didn’t know. It was tight-fitting; she’d look hideous in it now with her ever-pregnant tummy.

  Richard had grimaced at the prospect. Nappies were something he generally left to her. Realizing he had bigger fish to fry than the state of Scarlett’s behind, he had said, “Why are you packing? Where do you think you’re going? You’ve
got a baby to look after, you know.”

  “You can look after her,” she had shouted, actually hating his chiseled good looks at that moment, hating them just as much as she used to love and admire them.

  “Look after her? I can’t. I’ve got to go to work. Someone has to pay the bills.”

  The red mist had descended, as it seemed to do so with alarming rapidity nowadays.

  Trumping Scarlett’s wailing, she had screeched, “And what do you think I do all day? Lie down on a bloody chaise lounge, feeding myself peeled grapes and sipping champers whilst the baby slumbers sweetly beside me? What I do is work, Richard. It’s bloody hard work. The hardest work I’ve ever done, and I don’t get paid for it. None of us mums do. Or feel appreciated, it seems. We’re just bloody taken for granted.”

  Richard had made a show of tutting. He hated it when his wife swore. He thought it unnecessary. Which, of course, made Penny want to swear even more.

  “And I’ve got a job too, remember?” she continued, far from done. “But I had to take maternity leave. In fact, you insisted I take extended maternity leave, which means statutory pay after a while, which means very little pay at all, so don’t whine on about having to pay the bills by yourself.” She was sure she’d been foaming at the mouth by this point. “Why you couldn’t take paternity leave is beyond me. One week you had off when the baby was born, one pitiful, lousy week. You could have had more, but no, not you. You couldn’t wait to get back to the office, could you, to escape? If you think it’s so easy looking after a baby—and don’t deny it, you use the word ‘easy’ all the time to describe what I do—then do it. I’m looking forward to finding out just how easy you think it is when you’re doing it on your own.”