A Little Crushed

by Viviane Brentanos

  “Thanks, Mum, for trying, but there is really nothing to discuss except…” Placing her untouched glass on the table, she drew out a chair and sat. “It’s time to discuss what happened to me. We never do. It’s always brushed under the table, and for that, I am partially to blame. You see…” Deciding the bubbly looked pretty good as a truth serum, she reached for the flute and drank a huge slurp. “I haven’t been completely truthful. You think I don’t remember. I lied.”

  Her father’s pain-filled intake of breath shattered the electric silence.

  “I remember everything. I always have.”

  “Oh.” Her mother’s tiny sob spoke volumes. “Oh, Becky…”

  “Please, Mum, no drama. I’ve had nearly three years of it, and while I admit it nearly destroyed me, I’m over it now. I really am.”

  Her father’s stricken expression broke her heart. He looked as if he wanted to be sick. For a brief second, her hatred of her attacker resurfaced.

  “What did he do to you?”

  “No, Dad.” She shrank away from his outstretched hand. “You don’t get to ask me that. You don’t need to know. The reason I lied all this time was to spare you the pain I suffered. It won’t do you any good knowing the details. Suffice to say, I am glad I killed him.”

  “Rebecca, darling,” Her mother took her hand in hers. “It isn’t healthy for you to keep it all bottled up inside. You must talk to someone.”

  “Oh, but I did.” Rebecca allowed herself a tiny smile. “I found the most wonderful person. Someone who listened, someone I knew understood me. Sometimes I think maybe God sent him because, in a way, he became my guardian angel.”

  Her parents traded uneasy momentary looks. “Becky, who—”

  Lost in her memories, she barely heard her mother’s voice. “You see, I’d locked myself away from all of you. I put up these walls, pretending I was okay when all I wanted to do was scream and not have to go to sleep because every night, I lived the nightmare over and over again. But then, it was weird. He came into my dreams. He saved me there and then later…in the real world.” She stopped for a much-needed breath, tears burning her eyes. “It’s hard to explain. It’s like he pulled all the hurt and resentment from me and made it go away. He—” Tears spilled over and ran down her cheeks. “He made me love him, and then he left me.”

  Her parents stared at her, mouths open in shock before turning to each other for guidance. She hadn’t cried in front of them since they’d taken her to see Lion King.

  “Rebecca…” Her father recovered first. She could almost see his lawyer brain jumping into first gear. “Why do I get the feeling we’re not talking about Peter, here?”

  “Because we’re not.” Rebecca pulled a napkin from the holder and wiped her eyes. “And please don’t jump to any conclusions because if you do, I’ll leave right now. The man I am talking about…was Mr. Jackson.”

  A deathly quiet stole into the already overwrought atmosphere.

  “Excuse me?” Her father leaned in for the kill whilst her mother burst into tears. “Are you telling me my daughter was…seduced by a teacher? How did this happen, Rebecca? Did he force himself on you? Did he—”

  “For goodness sake, Dad. For someone who swears he despises soaps you do seem to get all your preconceived notions from them. Of course he didn’t force himself on me. Now that is funny. If anything, I seduced him. Well,” she rubbed at her nose, “I tried, but he was so damn honorable.”

  Her father looked as if he’d gone to sleep and woken up down a rabbit hole. “Rebecca, forgive me if I am a little confused, but last we spoke, you hated this man.”

  “And then I was in love with him. I am in love with him, and I believe he cared for me, too, but life got in the way. And this brings me on to the next little bombshell you are most likely going to go ballistic over. That’s why I’m going to Sydney to find him.”

  “I’m sorry.” Her father turned to her mother. “I could have sworn your daughter said she is going to Sydney. Read my lips, Rebecca. There is no way I will allow you to run half way across the world to find a man with whom you think you are in love. I refuse to fund you on some hare-brained scheme to run off after a man who is old enough—”

  “Dad, please. First off, he’s only twenty-seven, hardly Methuselah. And second, I am not asking you to fund me. Why do you think I have slogged my guts out all summer at the kennels? And third, and most important, please don’t patronize me. I am nineteen years old and in perfect control of my faculties.” Sidling up to him, she slid her arms around his neck. “Dad, I’m asking you to respect my choices. I’m not your little girl anymore. I know you don’t understand, but I need to do this. I have to find out if I meant anything to him, and if I’m wrong, then so be it. I will come home, go to Rendale with the gang and get on with my life. But if I don’t do this, I will never be able to get him out of my system. Please try and understand. Mum?” Turning in her father’s embrace, she sent a silent signal to her mother, pleading with her to help her get through to him.

  Her mother looked confused and torn. She’d always been an avid reader of Harlequin novels, so Rebecca knew she’d tapped into her romantic disposition, but would she break solidarity with her father?

  Chewing on her bottom lip, her mother leaned over and covered his hand with hers. “John, listen to me. Becky is right. We have to respect her decisions—even if they turn out to be wrong. She is an adult now. She is what you made her—independent, headstrong, and deeply passionate. If she believes she is in love with this man, who are we to judge her? We must support her.”

  Her father looked uncomfortable, but Rebecca understood no father liked to think of his daughter being in love. She’d forced him to accept she was no longer a child, but it was important he understood how much Mr. J. meant to her. For a too long moment, he said nothing, and then, to her horror, he buried his face in his hands and wept.

  “I’m so sorry I let you down. All I ever wanted was to protect you, all of you, but I failed. I let that monster hurt you, and for that, I will never forgive myself.”

  Over the top of her father’s bowed head, she met her mother’s tear-filled stricken gaze. “Oh, Dad.” Wrapping her arms around him, she held him. “Is this what you’ve been carrying around all this time? You have nothing to be guilty for. You are the best dad in the world. It wasn’t your fault. I am the only one to blame. I disobeyed orders and paid the price. You never let me down. I let you down.” They held each other, and her heart broke for him.

  A watery smile on his face, he reached for the fast diminishing champagne. “Flying to Australia. It’s not so easy, you know.”

  Rebecca kissed his forehead. “I told you. You are the best dad a girl could ever have.”

  “No, I’m not. I’m a weak old fool who has given in to you again.”

  “Huh,” Vicky’s mutter oozed from behind the door. “That’s nothing new.”

  “You’ll need a visa.” Composing himself, her father wiped at his cheeks. “You can’t fly off to Australia just like that.”

  “Already sorted.” She grinned.

  “Mmm. We’ll need to book a flight.”

  “Already booked.”

  “Excuse me?” He peered at her. “Since when did three hours a day at the kennels pay for a British airways flight?”

  “Actually,” she had the grace to appear sheepish, “I’m going with one of these cut-price airlines.”

  “You think?” He glared at her, back in responsible parent mode. “You are not flying in one of those rust buckets. Go and cancel your ticket. I will pay. Call it an I’m-not-going-to Oxford-gift.”

  “Can we come back in now?” Jack whined from the hallway. “I didn’t finish my cake.”

  “Er, actually Wally did that for you.”

  True enough, her mother’s pièce de resistance was no more.

  * * * *

  “I hope you know what you are doing.” Peter lounged on her bed with Emma and Simon as they watched her pack a few items f
rom her rather pathetic wardrobe.

  “Of course I don’t know what I’m doing.” From deep within the depths of her chaotic wardrobe she threw a muffled retort back at him. “Do I ever? And please, don’t try and talk me out of this.”

  “Would I dare? I’m worried, that’s all.” He sat up, the laughter gone from his eyes. “Look at you. You’re so fired up you could light up Old Trafford. I’m scared he’s going to disappoint you.”

  “He won’t.”

  “At risk of being a party pooper,” Simon added his two cents, “do you actually know where you’re going? Last I heard Sydney was a pretty big place.”

  “My dearest Simon,” she threw a pair of knickers at his head, “do I look stupid? It will be easy. I am certain every taxi driver worth his salt will know where to find the Jackson Media headquarters. Besides, when I am done here, I’m off to grill the Blacks. If anyone knows how to contact him, they will.”

  “Si,” Peter peeled the knickers from his friend’s head, “you’re wasting your time. As always, Rebecca will do what Rebecca wants to do. I just hope you’re right about him because it’s a helluva long way to go if you’re wrong.”

  “I’m not.” Concentrating on her packing, Rebecca was glad they couldn’t see her frown. Truth was she was scared.

  Emma burst into tears. “And if you’re right, and you stay there? We’ll never see you again. You’ll become a Sheila or whatever it is they call their women.”

  “Don’t be so daft.” Rebecca reached over and hugged her, a first in their long relationship. “I’ll be back. If not, then you can all come over.” No one said anything. Even Wally, head lying between his outstretched paws, seemed morose. Crouching down, Rebecca stroked his silky head. He was her best and most loyal friend. Whatever happened in Sydney, she would come for him.

  * * * *

  Mrs. Black opened the door in her dressing gown. “Rebecca?”

  “The one and only.” Rebecca peered at the book in Mrs. Black’s hand. “Funny. I never pegged you as a chick-lit kind of woman. May I come in? I know it’s late, but I really need to talk to you.”

  Face turning beetroot, the counselor hid the latest Kathy Lette behind her back and beckoned her inside.

  “I’m sorry to bother you.” Rebecca walked through the door into a toy-strewn hallway. “But I need your help.”

  “Fiona?” Mr. Black appeared at the top of the stairs. “What’s going on?”

  “Mr. Black.” Rebecca gave him a cursory nod.

  “Rebecca?” He descended the stairs. His greeting was less than enthusiastic. “You are looking well. Congratulations on your results, by the way, still, it’s a shame you decided against Oxford.”

  “For me or for your precious school?” She couldn’t help the jibe.

  “Tom. I think I hear Lucy crying.” Mrs. Black put a hand on her husband’s shoulder and steered him back upstairs. “Could you see to her, please?”

  She then beckoned Rebecca into the sitting room, stepping over a veritable mountain of toys on the way. “You were a bit hard on Tom, weren’t you?” Waving her into a chair, she took the seat opposite. “He was only trying to save you from unnecessary heartache.”

  “Perhaps,” Rebecca conceded. “But then he didn’t have to deliver his little speech with quite so much—how can I put it?” She cupped her chin in her hands. “Vigor? That was not the best day of my life, and I’m sorry, but your husband just reminds me of the whole humiliating experience.”

  Mrs. Black frowned. “Why are you here, Rebecca? I’m sure it’s not to rehash the past, so if you don’t mind, it’s late, and I do have to be up at six.”

  “I’m surprised you have to ask.” Rebecca smiled at her selective memory. “Or perhaps you thought I’d abandoned my plan? I did as you suggested. I waited six months —eight, actually—and now, it’s time for me to go.”

  “Ah.” Nodding her understanding, Mrs. Black rubbed at her forehead. “To be honest, I had hoped you’d got over him.”

  “Why?” Rebecca smiled at her assumption. “Because you thought it just a little crush? You still don’t get it, do you?”

  “Rebecca, you have to understand I have misgivings about you running off to chase —dare I say—a dream?” Mrs. Black spoke quietly. “Look, I know Max. Next to my husband and kids, I love him more than anyone. He’s a good person, kind and generous with a big heart. He is also impulsive, sometimes downright immature. The bottom line is he made bad judgment call. Whatever slant you may want to put on it, he shouldn’t have let you get so close to him.”

  “Why?” She curled her index fingers into quotation marks. “Because I was a child? I am not a child, Mrs. Black, and he certainly never treated me like one. He treated me like an adult. We could talk about anything. He was gentle, warm, so caring. When I was with him, I felt wonderful. I didn’t have to be Daddy’s little girl, always trying hard to live up to his expectations. I wasn’t my mum’s irritating daughter, or Vicky’s pain in the arse sister. I didn’t have to keep up the pretence of always being so tough and cynical. Max made me feel real.”

  Mrs. Black’s expression remained cynical. Rebecca didn’t care. Perhaps she was taken aback by this unprecedented outpouring, but it felt good to off load, even if she was making no sense. “I know he felt it, too. We had a bond.” She jerked her chin up, challenging Mrs. Black to contradict her. She didn’t. “Anyway, I wanted to ask if you’d heard from him.”

  “Occasionally,” she hedged. “But he is so busy now.”

  “I know.” If this was an attempt to thwart her mission, Rebecca wasn’t buying. “I’ve been reading Business News today. I know Jackson Media is stable, and I do know Mr. J. is acting CEO while his father recovers. Thing is, Mrs. Black. I’m going to do this. What I need from you is Mr. Jackson’s address.”

  “Ah, now that I can’t tell you. Don’t look so suspicious. I’m telling you the truth. We’ve never needed it, and Max was hardly ever there anyway. He always contacted us. I suppose you could try calling Jackson Media, although in all honesty I doubt very much they’d willingly hand out information. This is a multi-million dollar company we’re talking about. Their security is very tight.”

  “I know.” Rebecca chewed on the end of her plait. “I’ve tried. When I do see him, I’m going to have to tell him his staff could use lessons in public relations. It was like talking to a troop of S.S but with less charm.” She stood. “No matter. I’ll find him on my own. Thank you for seeing me, and please…tell Mr. Black I’m sorry for still being angry with him.”

  “He’ll get over it.” For the first time in their terse little conversation, Mrs. Black smiled. “And Rebecca, for what it’s worth, I hope you do find him, and you get what you want. I have no idea if he’s still with Kate, but she doesn’t deserve him. I think maybe you could make him happy.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “This is it.” The taxi driver held out his hand to receive her dwindling Aussie dollars. Hardly giving her time to get out, he gunned the engine and drove off, covering her in dust. Now he definitely was a bloody colonial. “Pig,” she muttered, dragging her holdall out of the way of the ongoing traffic.

  “Oh…oh my.” She forgot all about the unsociable taxi-driver. An imposing building towered above her, a black marble and glass beanstalk, piercing the cerulean blue sky. Feeling rather small, very vulnerable, and definitely intimidated, she climbed the marble steps.

  Two burly security guards flanked the great wood and brass revolving doors. Their smart livery of burgundy with gold piping did nothing to disguise the enormous breadth of their chests, but it was their serial killer stares that disturbed Rebecca most. Keeping her gaze trained on them, she pushed her way through the door, tripping up in her haste to put as much distance between her and the Terminator-like twins.

  She couldn’t hold back an awed whistle. The lavish foyer was an interior designer’s triumph of cream veined marble and huge mirrors. The muted tinkling of fountains and lush greenery was probably plann
ed to soothe. It wasn’t working. Despite the light and airy décor, an oppressive silence permeated the atmosphere. Smartly dressed men and women went about their business, their faces set in rigid lines, talking in hushed tones. Hardly encouraging, but she hadn’t flown thousands of miles to be put off by a miserable work force. Taking a deep breath, she strode across the cavernous reception area.

  “Good afternoon, may I help you?”

  A tall, willowy blonde with Snow Queen eyes and sprayed-on make-up looked her up and down as if she was something the cat had dragged up from the drains. Glancing down at her scruffy attire, Rebecca couldn’t blame her. She looked like a reject from a homeless shelter.

  Rebecca stared, fascinated by the woman’s hair. Her asymmetric bob had been cut with such precision, cheese could have been sliced with it. Blood-red talons tapped impatiently on the mahogany desk. “Sorry—” Rebecca cleared her throat. “Actually I’m here to see Mr. Jackson.”

  Fingers stopped flying over keyboards, phones held in mid-air.

  “Mr. Jackson is not available for comment. Our position was made perfectly clear in the press release.” The blonde snarled the words whilst waving her index finger. Another security guard appeared, hand hovering close to his gun. Rebecca’s heart pounded as the possibility that she had come on a wild-goose chase looked probable. “I don’t know anything about any press release. I thought you people were the press. I just want to see Max.”

  “Mr. Jackson is not available.”

  “So he’s here, then?” Her pulse kicked into sprint.

  “Good day. One of our guards will be pleased to escort you out.” The ice-maiden lowered her gaze.

  “I’ll take that as a yes?” Rebecca held her ground as iron fingers gripped her shoulder.

  “You heard Miss Wilde. This way please.”

  Rebecca snorted. Miss Wilde was about as wild as a night in bed with the Pope. She screamed in silent rage, feeling utterly powerless. “Will you stop that?” Trying to wrench free of his grip, she aimed a kick at his shins.