I stepped inside. “Hi, Mum!” I called out, knowing that my dad was probably still at bowls.
“I’m upstairs,” she replied.
The kids and I took off our shoes, then headed up the L-shaped staircase to the second floor. Remy raced for the sitting room, no doubt to watch TV, while Nicky and I entered the kitchen.
My mother turned around and smiled, which disappeared as her eyes dropped to the black computer bag Nicky was holding. “Can’t you spend one night without a computer?” she said, giving Nicky a stern look of disapproval.
“I have to bring it,” Nicky replied. “If I miss any posts I could get kicked out of the group I’m in.”
My mother exhaled loudly, but instead of telling her off more, she turned to me. “What time will you be here tomorrow to pick the kids up?”
“Around twelve.”
She nodded then turned to Nicky. “Go put your computer into the back room and come help me make dinner.”
As soon as Nicky disappeared out of the kitchen, my mother turned to me, giving me the stern look she’d previously directed at Nicky. “I’m not happy with the amount of time she spends on the computer. It’s not healthy for her, she needs to get out of the house more and find a job; after all she’s almost sixteen.”
“I know,” I said, not wanting to point out that Nicky was terrified of applying for jobs. God, she wouldn’t even go up to a counter to order food, let alone ask for a job. But if I mentioned this to my mother, she would get upset, especially after all the issues she had with my sister. Even worse, Nicky was starting to do some of the same things her aunty had, her psychological problems scarily close. And there was no way I wanted my mother treating Nicky like she did with my sister, now barely tolerating Lauren. So, I hid Nicky’s problems, knowing it was just better to deal with everything myself.
Nicky re-entered the kitchen, stopping my mother from giving me further advice. I gave Nicky a kiss goodbye, then went into the sitting room to give Remy one. A few minutes later, I was back in my car and setting off to get Tom from his work.
***
After a half an hour drive, I turned into Remuera, one of the wealthiest suburbs in Auckland. A mixture of older-styled brick and wooden houses populated the landscape along with more modern buildings made up of steel, plaster, and stone, all of them worth over a million dollars.
I turned into a large property and headed down a long driveway, the trees surrounding it tall and majestic. Once the trees cleared, a large wood and brick building came into view. Scaffolding surrounded the structure with jean-clad men working on it. I pulled over to a blue and white caravan—Tom’s portable office. I got out, spotting my husband standing in front of the house’s entrance, talking to a couple of men, all of them wearing hardhats. He was no longer dressed in the suit that he’d left home in, since his meeting with the new client would’ve finished in the morning. Instead, he was bare-chested and wearing worn-out jeans, the heat no doubt the reason for his half-undressed state, the sweat on his biceps glistening under the sun. He preferred the hands-on side of the job, most of the time leaving the paperwork to his business partner while he sorted out the builders.
One of the men he was talking to looked my way. He indicated to me with his head. Tom turned, a large smile brightening up his face as he saw me.
Smiling back, I stopped in front of them, saying hello to the other two men. They excused themselves, leaving me alone with Tom.
“No hello for me?” he said, holding his arms out.
I took a step back. “A hello, but no hug.”
With a cheeky grin, he went to embrace me.
I held out a hand, stopping him from getting closer. “Don’t! You’ll get me sweaty.” Although I wasn’t dressed up yet, I still didn’t want his sweat plastered all over my shirt and wraparound skirt.
“I’m barely sweating,” he lied.
I stepped back again. “Like hell you are, and your workers are watching,” I said, growing uncomfortable with all the stares thrown our way.
Tom turned to look at the builders, who were sitting on the scaffolding. The men had stopped whatever they were doing to watch us. An employee who’d been working for Tom a number of years, yelled out, “I’d never come to work if I had a wife like yours, boss!”
“Then why are you always later than me?” Tom replied back.
“Because I’m too busy dreaming of your wife, and you were late today.”
A grin split Tom’s face. “Because I was doing more than dreaming about her.” He thrust out his groin, setting the labourers off laughing.
I smacked his arm, getting sweat on my hand. “I’m standing right here!”
He grinned at me. “What’s the use of having a gorgeous wife if I can’t brag about it?”
I wiped my hand on my skirt. “It’s embarrassing, and not to mention inappropriate. You’re their boss.”
“So?”
“You’re impossible.”
“No, sexy is a better description. Now, give your husband a hug,” he said, holding his arms out wide again.
I extended my hand and started walking backwards. “Go take a shower; I’ll meet you at the car.”
He pulled a face at me, then headed for the caravan, disappearing inside it. Ten minutes later, he emerged with wet hair and wearing a fresh pair of jeans and a button-down shirt, the top few buttons left open. He got into the front passenger seat of our car. “You got all of my stuff?” he asked, clicking on his seatbelt.
“It’s in the boot.” I’d put it in there an hour ago, making sure I didn’t forget anything.
“Everything go good with your mum?”
“Yeah.” I started the engine and turned the car around, steering it down the driveway.
Tom began talking about the meeting, telling me that he’d gotten the job to build a house in Mission Bay. He continued to talk about it as we headed into town, the thin, spiky building of the Sky Tower coming into view. It stood tall and proud amongst the central business district of Auckland, the other buildings around it a mix of brick, plaster, glass, metal, and concrete.
I pulled into the hotel’s car park and got out. Tom grabbed our bags from the boot, then went to check in at the reception. A sea of grey carpeted the floor, the place affordable, but still nice.
Tom put his bag down in front of the desk, capturing the receptionist’s attention. Giving me a frown, he leaned his head towards mine. “You sure your husband won’t find out about this?” he asked.
I cast a glance at the receptionist. “He’s teasing, he’s my husband. He always says that to embarrass me.”
The receptionist smiled as Tom feigned innocence. She had auburn hair and a dusting of freckles across a small nose, the woman probably in her early twenties. “Name, please?” she asked.
“Mr. and Mrs. Hamlin,” I answered. “We’re here for one night.”
The woman looked at her computer, then pulled out two key cards from under the desk. She held them out with a smile. “You have Room 142. I hope you have a nice stay.”
Thanking her, I took the cards, then quickly ran after Tom, who was already heading for the elevator with our bags. I caught up to him as the elevator door opened, and followed him inside. As soon as the door closed, he let go of the bags and backed me up into the wall, kissing me hard as his hands moved to my breasts.
I jerked my head to the side and hit his hands away. “Not here, they have cameras.”
“Then let’s give them a show.” He grabbed my arse and pressed his body up against mine.
The elevator stopped, sending me into a panic. “Tom!” I said, trying to get his hands off me.
He let go and stepped back as the door opened. A fifty-something couple went to enter, but stopped, the man’s eyes going to my breasts. I looked down at them, horrified that Tom had popped open a few buttons, my bra now showing. I quickly did them up as Tom grabbed our bags and slipped past the couple. I followed, moving in between the man and a stern looking woman, who stepped
into the elevator. As the door closed, the woman’s hand whipped out, slapping the man across the back of the head, no doubt for looking at my breasts. Tom sniggered behind me.
I turned to him. “You’re an arsehole for doing that.”
“I didn’t realise your tits were showing, they interrupted us.”
“Then stop smirking like you think it’s funny.”
“But, it is funny.” He turned and headed down the corridor, dragging the bags along the floor, their wheels bumping over the grey carpet.
I followed, wishing he wouldn’t embarrass me in public. He didn’t care what strangers thought of him, but I did, especially when he did crap like that.
He stopped in front of Room 142 and took one of the cards off me. He opened the door and slotted it into its holder, which switched on the lights. I followed him inside. He put the bags by the foot of the bed and unzipped one, pulling out his smart trousers and button-down shirt. He laid them on the bed, then got the iron and ironing board from the cupboard. I watched him as he started ironing, something he’d gotten into the habit of doing while in the Naval Reserves.
He stopped ironing and looked up at me with a quizzical expression. “What?”
“Nothing.” I unzipped my bag and pulled out my dress along with my fancy lingerie. I slipped into the bathroom with them, hanging the dress up on the back of the door. I quickly changed into the lingerie, not so impressed with the G-string. I hated it, but Tom had bought the matching set for a special occasion. Still, I didn’t know why anyone would want to wear something that went up the crack of their arse.
I wiggled about in it to make it at least semi-comfortable, then slipped on my dress, smiling at the effect. The pink, white, and tan slip of a dress made me look slim and my breasts huge. Although it looked gorgeous, it was low cut, not something that could be worn just anywhere.
I tied the straps behind my neck, then went back into the main part of the hotel room to get my makeup bag. Tom stopped ironing and looked up, his eyes instantly going to my breasts. He put the iron down. Knowing what he was going to do, I grabbed my makeup bag and ran back into the bathroom before he could mess up my clothes.
Once my makeup was on, I left the bathroom, finding Tom dressed in the trousers and white shirt he’d been ironing. The top few buttons were left open, revealing his muscular, tanned chest. He was sitting on the bed, tying his shoelaces.
He looked up at me and whistled. “Give me a twirl,” he said.
Smiling, I twirled around, feeling as though things might just turn out alright; that this could be fun, like at the other club.
“You are gorgeous,” he said.
“You’re not so bad yourself, Mr. Hamlin.” I stopped twirling and bent down to slip on my high heels.
Tom pushed to his feet. “You ready to go?” he asked, once I’d done up the last strap.
“Yup. Just let me grab some makeup.” I went back into the bathroom and put the makeup I wanted into my bag, then headed back out. I smiled at him as he held the door open for me. I stepped out into the corridor, again thinking that maybe tonight wouldn’t be so bad.
4
PAST
I was sitting at the dinner table, barely eating my pasta, too caught up with being asked out by Tom.
“Kelly, stop playing with your food,” my mum said.
I looked up at her. She was staring at me with a quizzical expression, probably knowing something was different: maybe because I couldn’t stop smiling. Like me, she had black hair, but hers was much shorter and thicker. She also had a darker complexion, her olive-brown skin and dark-brown eyes often getting her mistaken for a Maori. But she was full Croatian, just born and bred in New Zealand.
My sister, who was fourteen, reached across the table. Lauren grabbed a piece of bread from the plate, knocking over my glass of cordial in the process. I swore as it spilled over my food. My father also cursed, his angry gaze directed at Lauren.
“You stupid idiot!” he snapped, his Croatian accent strong. “Clean it up now!”
Lauren went to get up, but I moved faster. “I’ll do it,” I said, pushing out of my chair. I strode into the kitchen, not wanting my father to ruin how happy I was. I returned to a quiet table, and quickly wiped up the mess. My father was still glaring at my sister, who had her head down, eating without snapping back. Lauren was usually the troublemaker, often yelling back at our father until he slapped her. It wasn’t like my father was a bad dad, he wasn’t, he just worked all hours of the day and when he came home he was exhausted, which didn’t help since he had a fiery temper.
I picked up my plate, definitely not interested in eating cordial soaked pasta. Anyway, I wasn’t hungry since my mind was still on Tom.
“You haven’t eaten anything,” my mother piped up.
I showed her the plate. “It’s ruined, plus I’m not really hungry.”
“Okay, put it in the disposal unit.”
As I walked off, my mum got up and followed me into the kitchen, which overlooked our neighbour’s two-storied house. The wooden farm-styled building had a gorgeous garden, which was filled with trees and brightly coloured plants.
I dumped the pasta into the food disposal unit.
“Why are you so happy?” my mother asked. “Did something happen at school today?”
I considered lying to her. No, I didn’t lie; I omitted the truth, talking about anything that wouldn’t get me in trouble. But, I was desperate to go out with Tom, and although she wanted me to have a boyfriend, I knew she wouldn’t let me go out at night with a guy, which was absurd considering I was seventeen.
So, for the second time I could remember, I lied to her. “Phillipa asked me if I wanted to go to the pictures,” I said, feeling bad about lying. “Can I go?”
“Sure,” Mum said, although she continued to stare at me, probably knowing that going out with Phillipa wouldn’t put me in such a good mood. “Anything else happen?”
“I passed my economics test,” I replied, getting a smile in return.
“See, I told you if you applied yourself you’d do well. What about your mathematics class?”
I grimaced, though instantly perked up at the memory of Tom blowing the raspberry against the window.
Mum placed a hand on my arm. “Does that smile mean everything is good with maths too?”
I nodded. “It went well today,” I said, and meaning it, just not in relation to the lesson. “Anyway, I have to call Phillipa about some homework. Can I do the dishes later?”
Mum smiled. “Don’t worry about them tonight. You go deal with homework, while I’ll share them with Lauren.”
Counting myself lucky, I grabbed the phone and went to my bedroom, closing the door behind me. The mirror on the back of it made me stop, my reflection catching my attention. I stared at my face, trying to see why Tom had called me beautiful. I was okay looking, nothing special. My nose was slightly too big, no thanks to Dad, while my eyes were hazel, although they looked brown most of the time, unless I was crying, then they turned an olive-green. Pity, because they looked prettier then, but at least my hair was nice, well, the majority of the time. It was long, black, and shiny. I also had olive skin, although my cheeks were a bit rosy right now, which was either from lying to my mum or the fact I was ecstatic over getting a date. A big grin spread across my face. Definitely getting a date! I jumped up and down, then did a little dance. I was seventeen and finally going out on a date, and with a gorgeous guy! I still couldn’t believe it, even more so that I hadn’t told anyone, not even Phillipa. I thought I’d be screaming it at her and she’d be screaming back at me, both of us ecstatic. It was probably because I was afraid she would try to double-date with us, which was a distinct possibility. And worse, she would probably flirt with Tom right in front of her boyfriend, which she’d done to another friend. She wasn’t the type to steal a boyfriend, she was just a Grade A flirt who needed to be the centre of attention. But on Friday, the only person I wanted Tom to look at was me.
I went to call Phillipa. The phone rang before I could press the digits. I answered it, hearing a male voice asking for me. I paused for a second, wondering who it was, then my stupid brain clicked on: it was Tom.
“It’s me,” I said.
“Hi.” He paused for a moment. “I know I shouldn’t be calling,” he said, making me nervous that he was going to back out of the date, “but my sister was talking about you tonight, complaining as usual. By the way, congrats on beating her at your club meet. She totally bitched about it over dinner.”
“Thanks,” I replied, still waiting for the: ‘Sorry, I can’t make it on Friday now. How about a rain check?’ then not hearing from him again, like what had happened with a boy from badminton, although it had been me who’d asked him out.
“Anyway, I told her that I’m going out with you on Friday.” He laughed. “You should have seen her face, she was so livid.”
I gripped onto the phone tighter, still wondering where this was going.
He continued, “She called me a traitor, then insisted that I get you drunk before the Saturday track meet.”
“I don’t drink.”
He laughed again. “I wouldn’t get you drunk. I want to take you to see the new Bruce Willis film. We can get a seat in the back and...” He stopped talking.
“And, what?”
He laughed louder. “I like you, you’ve got a good sense of humour,” he said, making me wonder what he was talking about. “So, what’s your address? I’ll pick you up in my car.”
“Um... can I meet you at the bus stop?”
“There’s no need to walk, I can come to your house.”
“My parents are kind of ... um ... strict. They will probably give you the third degree, so I’d prefer to avoid that.”
“Parents love me!”
I paused, not wanting him to know I probably wouldn’t be allowed to go out at night if they knew. “You can meet them the next time.”
“Does that means you want to go out with me again?”
My face dropped, not realising that the date could be a one-off. “Yeah.”
“Cool. You’re really nice to look at.”
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