“Come on, Kate, sheath the claws.”
“Protective as ever, I see. She doesn’t need your protection, Max. She has Saint Tom.”
“Kate—”
“I know, I know. I’m sorry. It’s just I know she doesn’t like me. Still, I shouldn’t blame her.”
“No, you shouldn’t.” He grimaced. “We...I hurt her.”
“Oh, not that again. Don’t tell me you still feel guilty? She has moved on. She has Tom—Mr. Perfectly Normal—and one half of the requisite two to one child equation. She should be happy.”
“And she is.” Max rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “Look, I didn’t call to talk about Tom and Fiona. It’s you…us I’m interested in.”
“We still have an ‘us’?”
Her soft whisper picked up his heart strings and wound them in a knot. “I think we do. At least…I hope we do.”
“Max, we agreed not to do this. A year, you said. You. You suggested the trial separation.”
“I didn’t use the word ‘separation.’” He strained to keep his tone on an even keel, but Kate was a master at twisting his words. “You were the one, if I recall correctly, who complained I didn’t give you enough space. You accused me of not understanding how important your career is. I only gave you what you wanted.”
“I’m sorry again. I was out of line. I’m tired, okay, and…”
“And?”
“I miss you. I didn’t think it would be so hard. I realize, now, how much...how much I love you.”
Max gripped his mug so tightly he was surprised it didn’t break. He should be dancing with joy, so why the panic jolt? “Kate…” He struggled to find the words he knew she wanted to hear. “Love has never been our problem. It’s always about commitment.”
“Mine, you mean.” Her sardonic laugh made him wince. “I’m a fool, I guess—or so my friends tell me. Here I am, engaged to the charismatic Max Jackson, and I am dithering. There are a million women running around the Southern Hemisphere just waiting for me to bail out, so they can jump into my shoes.”
Max smiled; his playboy image had always been a bone of contention between them, even though he assured her it was vastly exaggerated. “Come on, Kate. You know me better than that. It’s the fact you didn’t chase after me that impressed me. Please don’t go all meek and grovelling now. We’ve both made mistakes.”
“Very magnanimous of you. So, Max, darling. Where do we go from here?”
“Where do you want us to go?” He drained his tea, heartbeat revving once more. Why did this conversation make him uneasy?
“Oh no. Don’t you dare put this on me. I am trying.”
“I know.” Max closed his eyes against the headache pounding his temples. “I think…we need more time. My contract, here, runs for a year. You have no idea when things will wrap up over there. I just got here, Kate. I want to do this. I need to do it.”
“I guess… Max, are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m bushed. Kids are hard work.” He aimed for humour.
“Are you sure that’s all?”
He cursed her ability to read him so well. Truth was, he had no answer—not one that made sense. “Hey, I’m fine. Look, it’s late. We’ll talk again. Next week, maybe?”
“Sure.”
Kate sounded nervous, vulnerable; two words he’d never have aligned with his tough, independent fiancée. Was she afraid? He knew her well. She thought she could lose him. Kate didn’t like to lose.
Flipping his cell shut, he threw it onto the table and picked up his cup. He wished it would turn into whisky.
He packed his briefcase ready for the next day. Suddenly he felt restless, wishing he’d taken Tom up on his offer of another one of Fiona’s great meals, but he had a feeling Fiona didn’t want to see too much of him. Oh well, time to check out the box.
He walked into the sitting room and put a match to the already laid fire. At once his tiny living space seemed warm and cosy. Kate’s photograph drew him in, taking him back to their Oxford halcyon days. He supposed their finding each other had been inevitable: two rich Sydney kids together in a foreign country.
At first, her golden-beach beauty had left him cold. Girls like Kate had thrown themselves at him since he’d hit puberty and ditched the braces. But he’d been no match for her persistence. Subtlety wasn’t a word in Kate’s vocabulary. When she wanted something, she took it, just as she had on their first date. He’d been surprised and delighted to find her cool exterior hid a very passionate woman. Of course, later on in the relationship, he realized Kate had used every weapon in the book to steal him away from the woman he’d been dating. Fiona. In their first year, he, Tom, and Fiona had been inseparable. The three Musketeers, Tom named them, but then Kate had come along and changed all that.
Max crossed to the mantelpiece and picked up the gilt-framed picture. With his thumb, he caressed Kate’s delicate cheekbone. No doubt about it, she was stunningly beautiful, but was it enough? Where was the bonding of souls he’d heard so much about? A cynic, he’d always scoffed at that tired old line, but now, when he saw Fiona and Tom, with their gorgeous daughter, he wasn’t so sure. Would he and Kate ever share what his best friends shared? Somehow he doubted it.
Chapter Seven
“So how was it? Judging from the idiotic expression on your too-made up face, I’d say good.”
Emma ambled along at Rebecca’s side, expression vacant, eyes over-bright, and lips drawn in a smile that would have made Mother Theresa vomit it was so nauseatingly serene.
“It was nice.”
“Why so reticent?” Rebecca zeroed in on her nervousness. “Nice is hardly the term one uses when in the first throes of true love.” Hand on forehead, she struck a Bette Davis pose. “Oh dawrling, he is simply divine.”
“Stop.” Emma’s complexion changed from fuchsia pink to pickled beetroot. “If you must know…Andy asked me out.”
Rebecca stopped walking. “Out, out—as in a date?”
“Yes.” Emma gushed. “Becs.... don’t be mad. This is my big chance.”
“For what? To see if you can last longer than all the other poor idiots who fell for his line? You besotted fool.”
Thick-skinned as ever, Emma did not take umbrage. “I’m in love.”
“Oh, please.” Rebecca picked up the pace again. “Still, at least you got over the colonial nitwit fast enough.”
“I have not.” Emma giggled. “I still think he is drop dead gorgeous, but I have to be realistic. He is out of my league.”
“Well I am sure the delectable Andy will be thrilled to know he is second best.”
“Becs...”
Emma’s serious tone set off Rebecca’s mutiny-in-the-ranks alarm. She didn’t do serious a lot, but when she did, it usually spelled trouble.
“This no boyfriend pact. Don’t you think it’s a bit daft? I mean we’re eighteen. I just want us to be…you know…normal.”
“Define normal.”
“Normal as in fit in, be part of a crowd. It’s always just you and me. Oh dear,” Emma wailed. “This is coming out all wrong.”
“So make it right.”
“Now you’re getting all arsey on me. It’s just that, well, don’t you think it would be nice to have some fun for a change? What’s wrong with going to parties and clubs and meeting people?”
“You mean boys.”
“Yes. Maybe I’d like to be a bimbo occasionally.”
There was a pregnant pause while Rebecca digested this earth-shattering revelation. “You’ll be booking a holiday to Ibiza next.”
“And so? It’s got to beat camping in the Trossachs.” Emma warmed to her theme. “Come on, Becs, there has to be more to life than endless Saturday nights of Coldplay and Trivial Pursuit.”
“There has?”
“You always have to resort to sarcasm. I’m being serious. Look, I understand it’s different for you. After what happened—”
Rebecca whirled round, patience at an end. “Stop right the
re.” Her hands shook, her anger growing. “God, Emma. I thought you, at least, got it. My not wanting to party has nothing do to with what happened to me.”
“I never say the right thing, do I? I’ve tried so hard to understand, but you don’t speak to me anymore.”
For the first time Rebecca could remember, her friend looked angry.
“You’re so moody, Becs. You bite my head off for the least little thing. I pretend I’m okay with it because that’s what I’ve done for most of our friendship, but sometimes, your attitude hurts. I know you don’t mean it but… Example, look how you are about Mr. Jackson.”
“No.” Rebecca held up her hands and stepped back. “I am not talking about him. He has nothing to do with this conversation.”
“But he has.” Emma’s colour deepened. “It’s just...well...everyone in our class is a bit worried. We’re not all as clever as you, and if you’re going turn every lesson into a battlefield…We’re not in fifth year now. You used to be funny but… Oh, I hate this.”
“Spit it out.” Rebecca guessed what was coming but no way was Emma getting off lightly.
“The others are tired of your antics.”
“And you? Are you tired of me?”
“Don’t be daft.” She looked close to tears. “You know we’re best friends.”
“Are we?” Rebecca turned before Emma read the hurt on her face. “Look, if you want to go out with Andy Stone, then go. I don’t care. I am not your keeper. If you want to be stupid and gullible, just don’t expect me to tag along.”
“Why is it that every time I disagree with you, I’m stupid, or pathetic, or gullible? I happen to like Mr. Jackson, and so does everyone else. You’re the stupid one. Sarah’s right. You do need to grow up.”
Astounded by this unprecedented attack, Rebecca had no come-back.
* * * *
From behind his copy of Romeo and Juliet, Max watched Rebecca slip behind her desk. She looked paler than normal. He noticed she and the girl with the curls were not talking. He wondered if they’d argued. They seemed too close to fall out. Rebecca looked up and met his gaze causing him to feel…struth…embarrassed, like a shy schoolboy caught drooling over a secret crush. For the briefest of seconds, he found it hard to breathe. Her expression tugged at his heart. In her eyes, he read incredible pain and so much anger. Mouth turned down in a dismissive frown, she looked away and opened her bag. He wasn’t fooled. His scrutiny unnerved her.
He tugged at his neck. Pull yourself together, Maxy boy. You’re the adult, remember.
“Okay, folks. Let’s get this show on the road. I thought we’d begin with some more of the great bard. Who would like to read from where we left off? You. Simon, isn’t it?” Deliberately avoiding Rebecca and her friend, he zeroed in on the carrot kid. “Off you go.” Arms folded, he leaned back against the desk. “Let’s take it from where Romeo climbs up the balcony to woo his love.”
“To what?”
A wave of laughter ricocheted around the room. Even Max had to smile at the look of pure terror on the freckled face. “Woo, you philistine. It means to court, to flatter, to flirt. What’s the matter, Simon? You have never tried to flirt?”
“Only with his hamster.” Laughing so much at his own wit, Peter nearly fell off his chair.
“At least my hamster is a girl. You snog your dog, and it’s a boy.”
More raucous laughter.
“For goodness sake. You’re all pathetic.”
Rebecca leapt to her feet with such force her chair careened back and crashed to the floor. Grabbing her bag, she stormed from the room and slammed the door so hard, the glass pane rattled.
For a moment, Max didn’t know what to do. A stunned silence swirled around his head. His students stared at the door in unison, mouths open before turning their collective gaze on him. It was like a scene from the Dawn of the Dead.
David Keeley pierced the tension first. Lips parted in a cruel grin, he leaned forward and tapped Emma on the shoulder. “Hey Brown, you wanna stop hanging around with her. She’s well on the way to the funny farm.”
“And you’ll be on your way to detention if you don’t shut up.” Max wasn’t sure if he was allowed to tell a pupil to shut up, but he didn’t care. Gripping the edge of the desk, he held his temper in check. He itched to wipe the arrogant smirk from the boy’s face. Why he felt compelled to defend a girl who showed him so little respect, he didn’t know—except Rebecca was a troubled soul.
“O...kay, Simon.” He loosened his tie. “Let’s take it from ‘With love’s light wings did I o’er-perch these walls; for stony limits cannot hold love out.’ Come on, we haven’t got all day.” Ladies and gentleman, the part of efficient, in-control teacher will now be played by Max Jackson. Yup, that’s how he was going to do this. He would act at being a teacher. He’d been pretty good on the boards during his college days.
His strategy worked. Max got through the remainder of the lesson on autopilot. His class remained subdued, buying into his brooding mood, no doubt. When the bell sounded for lunch break, he shared their relief.
“Essays on my desk by Friday.” His command mingled with the muted chatter. “Miss Brown, Emma…can you wait behind, please?”
Max waited until the room emptied of inquisitive pupils, and he closed the door. Emma stood by his desk, bag clutched to her chest, gaze focused on the blackboard. He doubted his scrawled examples of Shakespeare’s use of iambic pentameter fascinated her. She bit at the inside of her mouth. He made her nervous. Great. It seemed to be his forte these days.
“Relax.” Smiling, he tried to put her at ease. The blush deepened. The penny dropped. Oh Lord, that’s all I need: a schoolgirl crush. “I want to talk to you about Rebecca. You and she are best friends, am I right?”
“Oh, yes, but please don’t report her to Mr. Black.” Emma looked close to tears. “I know she was rude to you the other day, and she shouldn’t have run out like that, but well, you don’t know the whole st—anyway, she’s really not that bad, sir. She is very kind really. She…um… She loves animals.”
“So did Adolf Hitler.” He couldn’t help it; it just slipped out.
Loyalty momentarily pushed aside, she giggled.
“Emma, I respect that you wish to support your friend. It is truly commendable, but you shouldn’t allow her to overwhelm you quite so much. And to put your mind at rest, I have no intention of reporting Miss Harding to the Head. I know more than you think. I understand she has been through some tough times but…I have to ask. I think there is more going on, here. Did you two argue?”
Emma averted his gaze and shuffled her feet. “You guessed that? Yes we did.”
“Well, I won’t ask you what about, but when you see Rebecca, please ask her to come and see me. This can’t go on. This is your final year. Exams are not that far off, and I cannot have this continuing atmosphere in my classroom.” Oh, that was a good line. Way to go, Max. You almost sound like you know what you’re doing. He patted her on the shoulder. “Okay, you may go now and Emma...”
She turned at the door.
“No more copying, please.”
“You knew?” The china blue eyes widened in amazement. “Shit—I mean oh. Funny, Mr. Adams never did.”
Waiting for her to close the door, Max slumped in his chair and buried his head in his hands. “This is too fucking hard.”
“Knock, knock.” Tom stuck his head around the door, a wide grin stretching what Kate called his boy-band face. “As your superior, I must remind you no blaspheming until four p.m., and you look like crap, by the way. More problems?”
Dragging his palms down over his chin, Max contemplated telling him. He decided not to. He couldn’t go running to Tom every time he faced a challenge. No, he would figure Miss Harding out on his own. “Nope.” He slipped his arms into his suit jacket. “All is well in the land of ‘Aus.’ Now, didn’t you say you had some of Fiona’s delicious egg mayonnaise sandwiches to share? Let’s hit the staff room.”
“Are you sure?” Tom gave him a sly wink. “Fiona tells me Christine Holmes is on the attack. She wants you, man.”
“Well who wouldn’t? A hot-blooded specimen of manhood like myself? God, I even want me.”
“Modest as ever.” Tom allowed him to pass before slapping him on the back.
Chapter Eight
Rebecca sat on a bench in the market square, a Sara’s Sinfully Sweet Shop bag of comfort food on her lap. Who cared if she missed English? She didn’t. Compared to this crise de confiance, education seemed irrelevant. She stuck her tongue in the delicious, creamy centre of a gooey creme egg, two hazelnut fudge bars on her lap as back up. If only life was simple. It had been simple until he arrived.
Her brain was in chaos. Being out of control was a new experience for her. She hated it. How on earth was she supposed to get through the rest of the year? It would be hell on earth, facing him each day. And just why she blamed him for today’s fracas, she didn’t understand. Actually, she did. Easier to blame him than admit Emma had a point. And of course, their latest arguments had all come about because of him.
“It just doesn’t make sense, you know.” She vented to the stoic pigeon waiting patiently for a crumb of chocolate. “I don’t know why I’m letting him bother me so much. He’s just another patronising teacher.” Her friend cooed and bobbed his head in agreement. “Oh, here.” She scattered the half-eaten chocolate on the ground, much to his joy, and he immediately summoned his family of twenty.
“No feeding the pigeons!”
The disgruntled park attendant glared at her, but Rebecca fixed him with her my-father’s-taxes-pay-your-wages glint. “I’m going.” She sniffed. “Oh, and by the way, the ladies’ loos honk. I suggest you spend less time on terrorising animal lovers and more on your job.”
“You’re not supposed to feed the pigeons,” he croaked. “They’re vermin.”
Rebecca wasn’t surprised he croaked. She couldn’t remember a time when the old boy hadn’t had a fag glued to his bottom lip. “So sue me.” Scrunching up the empty sweet bag, she lobbed it into the wastepaper bin. She knew he wouldn’t. Her father’s deadly lawyer reputation preceded him. He’d been bailing her out of trouble since she could walk.
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