I press my lips together. I didn’t chase Joel like I did her. But things were different with him. He wasn’t going through what Lia and her family were.
I think back to his words to me earlier today. You’re still the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. I think back to the boy I knew so well, who’d damn well near held my hand throughout the first half of my life.
“It doesn’t matter, anyway.” I shrug it off. “It’s not like I’m ever going to see him again.”
“Fate works in mysterious ways, Ellie,” Lia says, arching her eyebrows.
“It sure does.” Hope slams our drinks down in front of us, her face dark and stormy.
“Are you okay?” Lia asks, ever the peacemaker. Her eyes scan the bar and settle on a tall guy sitting at a bar stool by himself. “Hey, isn’t that Kyle—“
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Hope snaps.
“Are you sure?” Lia’s tone is earnest. Care shines in her deep brown eyes, and not for the first time in my life, I’m so thankful that she’s my best friend. She’s just a good person. She’s fought through so much and came out on the other side.
“I’m sure.” Hope picks up her glass of vodka soda and takes a long sip, looking me in the eye. “So there’s Joel ... what else is new?”
The bell hanging from the wall chimes as the wooden door swings open. A blast of cold air assaults me, honing in on the thin line of exposed skin between my tank top and jeans. Laughter tinkles in the air, and I still. Dani.
I kick at the pole supporting the high table and spin in my bar stool, facing the door and Danica Mayfield. My sister.
“Ellieeeeee!” She squeals and skips over, flinging her arms around my neck.
I stiffen. She smells like she’s bathed herself in bourbon.
I pull back so we can look each other in the eye. Well, I look her in the eye. She seems to be having trouble focusing on anything.
“Hey,” I say, frowning. What’s she doing?
“H ... hic ... hi.” Dani claps her hand over her mouth to swallow down the hiccups. Somehow, even drunk as she clearly is now, she still manages to look cute. A black leather mini skirt flares out around her tanned thighs, teamed with a mauve loose knit jumper. On me, it would look as if I’d raided a costume box, but on Danica it’s stylish and simple.
“What’s the occasion?” I ask, referring to her inebriated state.
She shrugs. “No occasion. Just felt like a party.”
“Well I think you’re gonna have to take your party somewhere else, missy,” Hope says, standing once more. “You’re pissed. We can’t serve you.”
Dani stiffens and wobbles over to Hope’s side. She holds out a wobbly finger as she enunciates, “Just. One.”
Hope laughs and takes her finger, somehow managing to turn it around so Dani is left pointing at herself. “Just. None.”
Dani huffs her way over to my side and wraps her arm around my waist. Hope and Lia discuss Lia’s latest assignment as Dani whispers in my ear, “I love you, Ell Bell.”
“I love you too, Dan Dan.” Look after your mother and your sister. “You shouldn’t be drinking like this, though.”
“I’m a grown-up now. I do what I want.”
Younger words were never spoken.
“You need to take it easy. You don’t want—”
Dani jerks both hands out in front of her, as if telling me to stop. Her eyes widen, and her throat bobs.
She claps one hand to her mouth and bolts to the bathroom.
“She’s not, is she?” Hope asks, but it’s barely a question.
“I think she is.” I turn back to the table and my two friends. “I should probably go look after her. You know. Hold her hair back and all that.”
“She’ll be fine,” Lia says, but I shake my head.
“I have to make sure.”
I say goodbye to my friends and head toward the ladies room. Only one of the three wooden cubicle doors is shut, and I rap on it gently. “Dan?”
“Go away.” It’s muffled, as if she’s trying to hold back a sob. Or maybe some vomit.
And so I do what anyone else would do. I slide down the white tiled wall, sitting on the floor with my back propped up. I rest my hand just under the cubicle partition where my sister alternates between crying and heaving up the contents of her no doubt now near-empty stomach.
“I miss him so much.”
Just like that, my heart breaks. Hearing her in pain kills me. It hurts worse than my own grief, which lurks around the base of my stomach, raising its ugly head from the mud every now and then.
“We all do, hon.” I press my lips together. “He loved you so much, Dan Dan. Truly.”
“I just ...” hiccup, “... I guess it’s just ... I always thought he’d watch me graduate, you know? And help me decide what to do with my life. And now I’ve finished school and I’ve moved out and I ... I don’t know what to do anymore.” This time, the hiccup turns into a sob, one that makes my chest constrict. “Does it get any easier?”
“Oh, sweetie.” I shift my weight on my fingers. “Yes.” I lie.
That’s the thing about grief. You do what you have to in order to make the ache less.
After a while, a frail, cool hand grips onto mine. She squeezes tight, hanging on for all she’s worth.
I breathe a sigh of relief.
As long as she’s hanging on, I know she still cares. That she cares enough to fight the demons of grief that haunt her dreams.
As long as she’s hanging on, I know she’s okay.
CHAPTER FOUR
Being the daughter of June Mayfield comes with a series of perks and punishments.
Perk: I get to go to a lot of functions, and eat and drink things that are somehow tinier and yet more expensive than I could ever afford to pay for in real life. Plus, I get to work flexible hours. Between her and Colin, I do around four days a week, and I get paid quite well for it, too.
Punishment: Stuffing gift bags. Because truly, it has to be one of the most soul-destroying things I’ve ever done.
“I need one each of these flyers in the bags, plus one pen, one magnet and one cupcake.” Mum places emphasis on the second-last word, as if concerned I might suddenly act upon my grand life plan of distributing cupcakes at random to the Sydney elite.
“Got it.” I nod and pull out the chair behind the desk at the front of Constantina Gallery, where tonight’s function is being held.
“Good.” Mum glances at her watch and her lips pucker. “I have to get my hair done. Your sister is late.” She says both with equal displeasure.
“I’m sure she’ll be here in a sec. Just go.” I nod toward the glass doors. Outside, the lights are beginning to dim. A grey shadow is cast over the city, and cabs and cars race past, headlights beaming yellow and white.
Mother follows my gaze, and then snaps her head back to me. “Okay. I’ll be back here in two hours.” She picks up her Coach handbag from the floor where it sits straight—all Mother’s belongings sit straight, they never slouch—and turns to click her way to the door.
When she gets there, she pauses, red-painted nails on the handle. “Eleanor?”
“Hmm?”
“Do not screw this up.”
I clench my jaw. As if putting pieces of paper in one hundred gift bags is just so hard to handle.
Mother opens the door and the noise of the city traffic roars in at me before the door shuts and I’m left in the concrete quiet of the gallery once more.
I take out my phone and dial Dani, but it goes straight to voicemail. Just as it has ever since I first called her half an hour ago, when we were due to start our shift. I frown and press my lips together. This isn’t like her. She knows how upset Mum gets if something doesn’t go according to plan.
I tap out a text, asking her where the hell she is, and begin the task of bag stuffing.
Soon, I fall into a rhythm. Flyer, flyer, flyer, flyer, pen, magnet, cupcake. Worry about Dani. Flyer, flyer, flyer, flyer, pen
, magnet, cupcake. Check phone. Flyer, flyer, flyer, flyer, pen, magnet, cupcake. Worry some more.
I’m onto my tenth run when the anxiety gnawing at me becomes too much. I dial Zy, my worst enemy and her best friend.
He picks up on the third ring. “You’ve finally changed your mind and want to spend the night with me.”
“No. Never. Ever.” I roll my eyes. “Are you with Dani? She’s not at work.”
“Just a sec.”
I hear the sliding of a door, then the line goes quiet for a few minutes. I glance over the flyer in front of me while I wait. An image of a half-naked man, muscles bulging, takes up most of the advertisement. Underneath, the words Life drawing are written in an elegant font, subtitled with the words The new form of therapy.
Why am I not surprised ...?
“She’s asleep, Ellie.”
“What?” I drop the flyer, and it butterfly dances to the floor.
“She’s aslee—“
“Wake her up, Zy! She has to be here.” Desperately, I glance at the mountain of papers I need to stuff. “I am going to be slammed trying to get this done myself.”
“Okay, okay, no need to get your panties in a knot.” Zy laughs softly. “Unless you need some help—“
“Oh my God, stop! Can you just get her to the Constantina, please? It’s in Sydney, so you’re going to have to motor.”
“Okay.” Zy breathes deep and long. “But you’re gonna owe me.”
“Bring her here ASAP.” I hit end call before he can stipulate exactly what he expects me to do in order to return the favour.
And then?
Then I pack like the wind.
I shove papers into bags as if there were an award for it. As if this could be a national sport. There’s no way Dani will get here in time to help me, but if I can get this job done, I can at least try and cover for her and save her the wrath of our mother. She needs that. Especially since she’s just moved out of home, trying to prove to Mum she can make it by herself.
My thoughts flash back to the bar on the weekend. She’s already so lost. She doesn’t need an angry sister and mother to add to the mix.
That’s why I keep packing as fast as I can, and when I’m done, miraculously five minutes before the doors open, I race out back to the storeroom and push off my jeans and tee, sliding a floral-print dress over my head. I spritz some perfume from Mum’s handbag and shake my hands under my curls, hoping they look a little less frazzled bag packer and a little more event attendee.
I’m so used to wearing a mask. Ellie, the strong one. Ellie, the nurturer, who looks after her friends and family.
Now, I’m Ellie the event manager’s daughter.
And Ellie the liar, as well.
***
“Remind me why I let you talk me into these things, again?”
I turn to smile at my flatmate and partner-in-crime. A black dress just covers the ink on Hope’s upper thigh. Her painted black nails wink from her fingers as she signals the waitress currently circling the room to bring more champagne over this way.
“Because you’re trying to snag one of the young, rich and wanky?” I ask, taking a glass of sparkling from the tray when the waitress pauses in front of us.
“Nah.” Hope tilts her head to the side, then grabs a mini quiche from another tray that seems to float past us. “I think it’s for the free hors d’oeuvres.”
I giggle and take a sip of the bubbles, loving the way they seem to fizz right through my body and dissipate the strength in my knees. The taste is somehow buttery and acidic all at once, and I take another sip. Around us, the crowd swells, people almost shoulder to shoulder. Cameras flash as the press and studio photographer do their thing, and everyone seems to either have a glass of sparkling wine or some sort of bite-sized snack in hand.
There’s something to be said for my mother’s events. They may be boring as all hell, but at least the catering is good.
“No sign of her yet?” Hope asks, scanning the room for my sister.
I shake my head. “None. I just hope she’s okay.”
“Ha!” Hope snorts. “I hope she’s got a damn good reason why she left you in the lurch.”
“I’m sure she does ...” My voice wavers as I trail off. She will have a good reason.
Right?
“Warning, three o’clock,” Hope whispers, nodding to her right.
“That’s my nine,” I say, but look anyway. Standing there in amongst the crowds of well-dressed, overly perfumed patrons are two of the young art lovers. Dressed in suits, with hair coiffed almost ceiling high and holding glasses of champagne, they reek of money and style, with just a hint of pretentious.
They’re typical of the younger crowd that attend these events. We’re on the northern half of Sydney, a hub of business activity, and the sort of area where old money spawns new.
The two men, one blond with blue eyes, the other dark with gorgeous olive skin, smile, and the dark-haired man nods. It’s as if they’ve just won the jackpot.
“Why did you make eye contact?” Hope barely moves her mouth as she talks. “It’s like when you see a bear in the wild—you’re not supposed to look it in the face.”
“We’re in Australia. We don’t have bears!” I hiss, just as the blond walks forward, his steps a gentle swagger.
“Like what you see?”
I spit my champagne back in my glass. It’s a miracle I don’t choke on my laugh.
“The art here tonight sure is one of a kind.” Hope is deliberately obtuse, and it’s all I can do not to snort.
“My friend wasn’t talking about the paintings.” This time it’s the dark-haired guy who speaks, stepping into our circle. “And I have to say, you two aren’t so bad yourselves.”
“Does that actually work for you as a pickup line?” I ask. A waitress inches past us, and I swap my empty glass for a full one. Using a deep tone, I mock, “Hey, I’m good looking. You’re kind of okay.”
The two men polite-laugh. “Fiery,” Blondie says. “I like that in a woman.”
“Of course you do,” Hope mutters, but the two men are so busy chest puffing that they don’t seem to notice.
“So what do you ladies think of the art?” the dark-haired guy asks. He points to a painting on the wall behind him, a canvas splattered in red with the words art is life ... and death underneath. “It’s really ... complex, isn’t it?”
“Yes, that’s the word! Complex. With an undertone of sarcasm.” Blondie nods and clicks his fingers, then turns to Hope and me. “Would you agree?”
“One hundred per cent with you on the sarcasm,” Hope says, and I take a sip of wine, more to stop myself from laughing out loud than out of thirst.
“Eleanor!” Mother’s shrill voice somehow rises above the crowd of rhubarb voices. “There you are.” Mum curls her hand around my arm, a smile adorning her face. “Can I talk to you for a moment?”
“Sorry, boys.” Hope nods a goodbye as Mum takes my arm and steps me away from the guys, Hope following hot on our heels.
“Hope, be a dear and run and get Ellie and I a refill, will you?” Mum asks, holding out her empty champagne glass.
Hope nods and takes the empties then disappears into the sea of people, no doubt in search of the wait staff.
Once we’re a safe distance away, Mum stops and studies me, her eyes narrowed. The sweet scent of wine leaches from her breath, and I blink in the face of it. “One bag had two cupcakes,” she hisses, a smile pasted on her face.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I thought I did it right.” I really did. Then again, in my haste, it’s entirely possible I got a little too liberal with my baked good generosity.
“Well for crying out loud, get it right next time.”
Ow.
I straighten my shoulders and pretend it doesn’t hurt me.
Mum doesn’t notice. “Where’s your sister? Is she still getting changed?”
I bite my lip and study the polished concrete floor. Designer shoes strut o
ver it, milling in hubs, an ever-changing tide. “Probably.” I silently add, or possibly she’s still in a car, or at home asleep. At this point, it really could be any of the above.
“Hmph.” Mum looks up and to the right, as if she’s studying the intricacies of the situation. “Well, I guess it’s good one of you take pride in—“
It’s then that we hear it. The smashing of glass.
The hushing of voices.
All the heads in the room swivel toward the doorway where Danica stands, her hands in the air. A sheer black top and black silk skirt hang off her body, white pearls loosely draped around her neck. Dramatic curls float around her shoulders, and her deep red lips round in an O.
On the floor at her feet is a broken glass. A waiter stands nearby, his jaw dropped.
“I am so sorry.” Dani smiles, her head tilted, and from nowhere a second white-shirted waiter appears with a broom and dustpan, tending to the mess. “I hope you’ll all forgive me.”
The hub of voices starts up again, and people flit to her side.
“You’re not hurt, are you?”
“Those champagne flutes, so slippery.”
“Really, the waiter should have been more careful handing one to you.”
Hope walks up, two flutes in her hand, and elbows me in the side. We share a look.
“Poor dear. I’ll go get her another glass.” Mum’s eyes glaze over and she takes both glasses Hope has offered and pushes past us without so much as a goodbye.
The sea of people once more part for her as she strides to reach Dani’s side. When she gets there, they embrace and share the air kisses of the socially well-endowed instead of the mother and daughter they really are.
Tension tightens my shoulders. I should go and make sure Dani is okay. That she wasn’t asleep late because she was sick, or anything like that.
Because that’s what I promised to do.
Make sure my sister and mother are okay.
“Hey.” Hope’s hand cools my arm. “Let’s get outta here.”
I frown. “We can’t.” The exhibition doesn’t finish for another two hours, and Mother has organised a car to take us all back to Emerald Cove. “You know she’ll flip if she finds us missing.”
The Twenty-One (Emerald Cove #2) Page 3