by Allie Little
Dad gives a sharp cough, cautioning me with the brilliance of his disingenuous smile.
“Of course, Catherine. Dad and I work closely on many projects, but your case will take full priority whilst in the hands of Atherton.” I expect to be struck down by a bolt of lightning. Cursing myself and wishing to withdraw, the look on Dad’s face screams something’s not right. I can feel it in my bones. In my blood. I know him, and what he does. And this time will be no different.
“The contract, Catherine. If it’s all in order and to Mr Rhys-Jones’ approval, please sign so we can commence the work.”
Across the antique walnut desk, Dad hands the paperwork to Mr Rhys-Jones. He spends a moment scrutinising the details, then offers a small nod to Catherine, providing the anticipated approval.
“The deposit shall be in your account by tomorrow, Richard.” Catherine Bancroft takes a pen in her bejewelled hand, signing swiftly over the dotted line.
And I hear Dad’s smirk of success as the pen scrawls her signature over the page.
6
Grace
Granny Bess lives at Fairy Bower, Manly, where salty sea-winds curl across the cliff striking vertically to the sea. Where endless ocean sluices pain from your heart, dumping it beneath the feathered surface of its watery skin.
For many years, this was home. When my parents died traumatically in a motor vehicle accident, horrifically, two days after I turned fourteen, I believed I would never breathe again. But Granny Bess opened her big squashy arms and held me so tight I never wanted to surface from her embrace. Those arms were the arms that saved me. She held me while I cried torrents of tears, sobbing tirelessly into her chest, rising only to weep just a little bit more.
So many years ago, now.
I take the cobbled path to the rear of the homely weatherboard house. Past dahlias and Shasta daisies, so bright against the burning blue of the sea. Past roses and sprawling mint, and the big old lemon tree coiling limbs over the sea-weathered rails of Gran’s sunny pergola.
I’d come here often with Dan. We’d sit on the deck and laugh, tell stories that made our hearts ache. But not anymore. Not over the last three months. Not even over the last twelve. Not since Dan entered an altered state of metamorphosis, transforming from the man I’d married into a man I’d never known.
Gran spots me from the kitchen, her face lighting up. She beams her big granny smile. “Darling!” The glassy rear doors to the pretty garden overlooking the sea are thrown open. “Your visits are always such a lovely surprise.”
“Thought I’d pay you a quick visit, Gran. I needed a Granny Bess hug,” I murmur into her silvery hair.
Gran eases back to study me, visibly concerned. “What’s happened, Grace? Are you all right?”
“Yes, Gran. Perfectly all right. I just needed to see you.”
“I do have news for you though, my dear,” she says, becoming solemn. Her face takes on a gravity reserved only for bad news. “Come in and sit down by the fire.”
“What news, Gran? Is everything okay?”
“I think so, darling. But maybe you’re in a better position to answer that.”
“Okay, sure. What is it?”
“Daniel was here. He came to visit a few days ago, brought along a packet of chocolate chip cookies and a bunch of flowers he did, too.”
“He did? Oh Gran, what did he say?” A shot of adrenaline punches me in the guts, for this was the news I’d hoped I’d never have to hear.
“He said he’d been searching for you, darling. Wanted to know if I’d seen you, or at least spoken to you. Of course, I said no, just as we’d agreed. But I didn’t like the look in his eyes, Grace. Terribly steely and determined. Not like the affable old Dan we all used to know. And I’m sure he didn’t believe me. He knows how close we are.”
“He’s changed, Gran. Affable Daniel left a while ago now.”
“Shame. He was always such a charmer. He seemed edgy and nervous, though. Paced back and forth across the garden, then gazed across the sea as if searching for you on the horizon. It’s only a matter of time, darling. You’ll have to face him, sometime. It’s hard to believe you’ve avoided him all this time.”
“Only because Gemma moved into a new apartment. He doesn’t know where she lives or that I’m staying with her.”
Gran considers this momentarily, then lets out a sigh. “Everyone has a dark side I suppose, but he can’t force you to be his wife. You have every right to strike out on your own. Perhaps he just needs an explanation, Grace. Closure. At the very least, he needs to know why.” Gran stops, furrowing her lined brow. “What are you so afraid of? I’m here if you need me. I’ll always be here.”
“You have no idea how pleased I am to hear you say that.” I pull Gran into my arms, hugging her. “Thank you.”
“So?”
I draw back. “So, what?”
“What are you so afraid of?”
“You’re not the first person to ask me that. Riley asked me the same thing yesterday.”
“Riley, your boss? Insightful man.”
“You’ve never met him, but yes, he is. It’s hard to put into words, Gran. Unless you’d been married to Daniel, you wouldn’t understand.”
A knowing glint sparkles in her cornflower-blue eyes. “Try me, darling. I might be ancient, but I’m no fool. I’ve had my fair share of trouble with men and relationships.”
Remembering Gran had been married three times, I give a little giggle. “Okay. You’re right, Gran. Maybe you are qualified to comment.”
“Indeed I am. Now, tell me why he’s got you so spooked.”
“Where do I start?”
“How about at the beginning?”
“Gran, that would take way too long.”
“Sit yourself down and I’ll make us a cup of tea. Nothing like a hot cup of tea to get the conversation flowing. I’ve got all the time in the world.”
I plonk into the antique timber chair Gran pulls from beneath the rustic kitchen table. She flicks on the electric kettle, then stokes the fire in the old-fashioned hearth.
“Now, talk.” Gran wipes her hands off on her apron, falling into the chair opposite. “If you can’t talk to your old Gran, who can you talk to?” She places her gnarled, arthritic hand on mine, giving it a gentle squeeze.
With Gran, the weight of the world lifts clean off my shoulders. When my parents died, I needed her intensely. While my splintered mess of a grieving heart took time to mend, Gran would take my hand and whisper me sweet words of love. Stroke my hair as I lay in her lap, reassuring me everything would be okay. That I would be okay. That I just needed time. Back then, I never honestly believed. But she was right, of course, because time did heal.
The kettle clicks off and Gran rises, busying herself with the clink of tea-making.
“There’s one thing I can say about that husband of yours, and that is he’s selfish.” She turns her back, pouring tea from the pot. “A selfish man will never give, darling. He will take, but he will never give. Not with his heart, anyhow.”
I wait for her to continue, wishing she’d thought to mention this before we’d got married.
“I noticed this the moment I met him. All that charm and personality. The way he encouraged you to leave your job.”
“Encouraged?” I bite into a scone Gran had placed in front of me on a dainty floral plate. “Forced, you mean. I had no choice. In the end, there was no point fighting it. He was always going to win.”
“And that was the beginning of the end, as I saw it.” She shakes her head, tut-tutting her displeasure. “That sulky bad temper should have been a warning sign. Stropping like a child in a fit of pique. I know his type only too well.”
I give Gran a wan smile, appreciating how insightful she truly is.
“You can’t change disposition, darling. Basic temperament. That was your first mistake. Thinking you could change him.” Gran nibbles on her scone, washing it down with a sip of hot tea.
“I guess so.�
�
“Now, I know about the rows, darling. Sometimes the simple act of getting along can be difficult in a marriage. But tell me, was there ever anything ... well, you know... more serious?”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh dear, do I have to spell it out for you? I was trying to be tactful. Has he ever laid a hand on you?”
Pause.
“Of course not. Dan would never do anything like that,” I lie, protecting her.
There had been a couple of occasions, the last on that awful morning before the gift of yellow dahlias, when he’d grabbed me around the throat, choking me in a fit of rage. His eyes a sharp shade of black, he’d released me just as quickly, but the look on his face held instant regret, as if he’d shocked himself as much as he’d damaged me. In that epiphany of pure fear and panic when I was sure I might die, I knew what I had to do.
Only days later I left.
In the middle of the night.
Without a word.
Without goodbye.
Just gone.
“That’s a relief. You never can tell with those selfish men.” She pats my arm a little, sipping her tea. “Now, shouldn’t you be getting off to work? You wouldn’t want to be late.”
I swallow down the remainder of my sweet tea, then kiss her soft cheek, assuring her it wouldn’t be long before I visited again.
***
“Stan, where’s Mia?”
Stan scans the heaving restaurant left to right, returning his attention to me. “She was here a minute ago, chicken. She can’t be far.”
“When you see her, tell her I need her. I’ll be downstairs.”
“Right you are.”
I take the glossy stairs to where the blue of the ocean dazzles in the sunshine. The glimpses of ocean feed my soul, so work is a pleasure.
The chefs are heavily preoccupied, unavailable except for their concentrated efforts on the food. Lucy’s running around madly, balancing several plates of exquisite seafood up each arm and returning to take more orders.
Mia steps into the restaurant from the rear lane, pale as a ghost from the midnight salt-marsh. She catalogues the room, vacantly. After several moments, she faces me rather blankly. Her vacancy strikes me as odd.
“Are you okay, Mia? I’ve been looking for you.”
She nods emptily, a slow, confused nod. “I’m fine, I think…” she mumbles, expressionless.
“What’s wrong? You don’t look too good. Come and sit down.” I drag her into the office and plonk her into a chair. “Tell me what’s happened.”
She runs a trembling hand through her long hair. “I’m not really sure. I was in the back lane …taking out the trash …” She pauses, preferring to remain silent.
“Yes. Go on,” I prompt.
She visibly swallows, wringing her hands. “There was a guy out there. Tall and blond. He approached me and started asking questions. But he got agitated, wanting to know if I worked at Swimmer, who I worked for, who else worked here. That kind of thing.”
An upwelling of nausea fills my stomach. “What did you say? Did you tell him anything?” Beginning to shake, I fold into the chair beside Mia.
She’s lost for words. “I … I don’t know. I told him that I worked here. That I worked for Riley.”
Anxiety balls like a solid mass. It had to be Dan. Who else would lurk behind the restaurant in broad daylight, pressing Mia for information?
“Did he say or do anything else? It’s important Mia. You must tell me. You have to remember.”
Mia looks at me curiously, her colour returning. “He paced around like a madman, muttering about the one that got away, and how he would make those responsible pay. It didn’t make a lot of sense.” She looks at me closely, questions in her eyes. “Are you okay, Grace? Do you know this guy?”
The melodic strains of Adele waft lyrically through the office, her lilting voice calming neither one of us on this occasion. “Of course not. He must have something to do with Riley.”
Mia lifts the frayed edge of her black shirtsleeve. Large red finger marks bruise the pale skin of her upper arm.
“Oh my god, did he hurt you?”
“He pulled me into a dark alcove a little way up the lane, demanding I answer his questions. I told him to get his hands off me and let me go. Which he did, but not before he thrust this piece of paper into my hands.” She holds up a torn, scrappy fragment of paper. “There was something not quite right about him. He seemed frazzled, crazy even. He let me go straight away when I got cross with him.” She pauses, gathering her breath, then lets out long, slow sigh of relief. “Now I’m the one who’s frazzled.”
“Show me the paper again, Mia. What does it say?”
She holds it out. It’s time to come home is scrawled in black, inky pen, the letters thick and bold. It looked like Daniel’s handwriting, but had the unfamiliar ring of madness in the message.
I give Mia a falsely reassuring smile, swallowing my growing anxiety. “It’s going to be fine, Mia. I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about, and as you say, he’s probably just some freak-show who’s not quite right in the head.”
The comforting words roll easily from my tongue. Despite my pounding heart, I need to keep the staff calm and assure them that things are to go on as normal. Because they were. Everything was normal, and would continue to be so.
She crosses her arms, a gesture of self-comfort. “I’m okay, Grace. I’ll get back to work.”
“You’ve had quite a scare. Why don’t you take a break for five minutes?”
“No, no, I’ll be fine. Lucy needs me.”
I peek my head out and Lucy is indeed struggling, the hassle and strain of the busiest time of day visible on her face.
“Okay, if you’re sure. I’ll speak with the staff and let them know what’s happened. If you see him again, let me know straight away.”
Mia stands to leave, then pivots at the door. “Do you think we should tell Riley? He might know who this guy is. It could be business-related.”
A jittery feeling swamps me. “I’ll let him know. Try not to think about him, Mia. He’s given you quite a shock.”
“I’ll leave it with you, then.” Straightening her pristine black outfit, she makes her way to Lucy. They huddle together before Lucy hugs her friend, lingering afterwards to check she’s okay.
In my bones, I know he’s watching. That he’s out there, waiting like a predatory lion. I know he’s found me, or at the very least discovered where I work. And staying here now, waiting for him to materialise doesn’t feel right. With every fibre of my being I want to run.
I need to find Stan. Stan can drive me home.
Stan can do that, I’m certain of it.
Even if I’m not certain of much else.
7
Grace
Stan drives me home, shaken. The light I breathe, drawn from the baby-pink sky, is sucked from within, leaving me dark and breathlessly black.
“Are you okay, chicken? You seem off. You haven’t been yourself since lunchtime. What’s going on?” His eyes drill mine, the deep brown of his gaze helping me focus. He gives my knee a friendly squeeze.
“Nothing’s going on, Stan. I’m just tired, that’s all.” I scan the street nervously, checking the hidey-holes and spaces behind trees.
“Not buying it. There’s something going on. Tell me what it is.” He searches my face, levelling me with a look. He sighs with exasperation when all I do is shrug. “Come on, then. I’ll walk you in.”
Gathering my belongings and pushing from the car, I thud the door closed. Stan watches, perhaps wondering when my fragile exterior will finally crack and shatter, splintering into fragments.
I slip the key in the front door, pushing it ajar. Gemma’s standing behind the kitchen bar, pouring herself a voluminous wine. “Hey, you two! Shall I grab another couple of glasses?” She breezes past to the cabinet housing wine glasses.
Stanley’s face lights at the mention of wine. “Never say no to alco
hol, Gem.”
“How did I know you’d say that?” Gemma laughs, grabbing for two more glasses. She stops suddenly, noticing the strain. “What’s going on? What’s wrong, Grace?”
“If you can get it out of her, you’re doing a hell of a lot better than me,” Stan warns, mock-punching my upper arm.
Gem races over, dragging me into her arms. “It’s okay, Grace. Whatever it is, we’ll sort it out. And there’s always Brady, my brother. He’d happily help. He is an ex-cop after all.”
“You know what this is about?” Stan asks, incredulous.
“I think I can guess,” Gem draws back, probing me with her eyes. She glances across at Stan, then back to me. “Stan’s cool, Grace. You can tell him. Why don’t you talk about it?”
“I didn’t want anyone to know. This was supposed to be a new start, Gem. New job. New apartment. New everything. I’d really hoped …” I trailed off, wanting to say that I’d really hoped to keep my past precisely that. In the past. Not colouring my life now. Not holding me ransom. Not … anything.
“He’s found you, hasn’t he?”
Solemnly I nod, my eyelids flickering closed. When I open them again, Stan and Gemma are standing to attention, waiting. “He was always going to, or so everyone kept telling me. Well … you and Gran, you’re the only ones who’ve known. Until now …”
Stan’s face is a mixture of confusion and concern. “Who exactly has found you? What on earth are you talking about? I’m feeling a little worried here, girls. Should I extricate my baseball bat from under my bed?”
I can’t help but smirk at Stan, always knowing how to lighten the mood.
“Well, look at me girls. Look at these impressive muscles.” He flexes the biceps of two weedy, pale arms, lacking in muscular form. They were hardly arms that could inflict bodily damage. “Which is why I need the bat.”
Gemma chuckles. “I don’t think savagery will be necessary Stan, so your muscles are off the hook. Grace’s problem is more … psychological. In more ways than one, right Grace?”
“I guess so, Gem.”