by Lilly Mirren
All of a sudden, she raised her eyes to stare at the purse on the passenger seat. She tugged her mobile phone free, dialled and set it against her ear.
"Heeeelllloooo," Andrew said, his voice chipper.
Cindy's nostrils flared. "How dare you!"
Andrew hesitated before answering. "Cindy? Baby, is that you?"
"Don't you call me baby. You don't ever get to call me baby again. Do you hear me?" She was shaking with rage; her free hand clenched the steering wheel, knuckles white.
"What's going on? Are you okay, Cindy?" His voice sharpened with concern. "Has something happened?"
"Happened? Do you mean other than my philandering husband walking out on me after forty years of marriage?"
He didn't respond.
She couldn't stop now. Anger surged like molten lava through her veins, burning as it went. "How about that same rotten husband leaving me with so many debts I can't possibly repay them? What were you thinking, Andrew? I mean fine, have an affair, leave me for a younger woman - congratulations on finding someone even more simple-minded than yourself, by the way…" She'd never spoken to him like this before, never talked to anyone the way she was shouting at him now. It felt good. And as they tumbled from her mouth, the words she spoke emboldened her to go on. "But why would you mortgage the business my parents left me? I might lose it, you know, our home as well. Did you even think about that?"
She could hear the deep breath he drew before answering. It satisfied her a little to know she'd made him feel uncomfortable, hesitant. He was Andrew Flannigan, always ready with the right words to say, a vivacious, charming, extroverted wordsmith. But now he was stuck for words, only his breathing letting her know he hadn't hung up yet.
"Hold on a minute, Cindy. Let me explain—"
"You'd better have a great set of reasons…"
"I didn't mean to do it. There, how's that?"
She shook her head, eyebrows furrowed. "That's not good enough. You didn't mean to leave me, or you didn't mean to destroy our finances?"
"Either…both. I mean, we didn't have a good marriage. You know that. We weren't connecting, we hadn't in years. You had your work, your friends, your activities, and I wasn't a part of that. We lived separate lives, Cindy."
Her lips pursed, and she grunted out a burst of angry laughter. "Oh, please, that's no excuse. You could've tried harder."
"I know that, I'm not blaming you."
"I hope not. It wasn't me who gave up on us."
"I'm sorry, Cindy, but I couldn't stay any longer, I just couldn't. Especially when I realised the state of our finances was so bad. I knew you'd find out, that you'd hate me, probably leave me anyway. I couldn't stand to see that look on your face…"
"You could've talked to me about it," she said, trying to control her voice.
"No, you wouldn't have listened. And what could I say?"
"Whatever it was would've been better than nothing. It was cowardly, stupid and about a dozen other things I can't think of right now. I'm so angry with you, Andrew!"
"I'm angry too!"
"What do you have to be angry about?" Cindy asked, incredulous.
"Well, things didn't exactly work out the way I'd planned," he said, his voice rising in pitch. "I wanted to retire, maybe buy a fishing boat and have some fun. But by the time I retired, there was nothing left. No money, no business equity…no intimacy…nothing."
She shook her head in disbelief. "That was your doing."
"Look, if you called to yell at me, I've got better things to do." His voice shook with repressed emotion.
"Fine, I guess I'll take care of everything myself. Like I always do!"
She hung up the phone, wishing not for the first time that it was an old-fashioned rotary phone so she could've slammed it down and at least echoed in his ears. Instead, she tossed it across the car and winced as it thwacked against the opposite door and bounced onto the passenger seat.
On the drive home, she turned up the radio, blasting the music as loud as she could manage without damaging her eardrums. She pulled into the driveway and saw Athol climbing out of his parked car ahead of her. She switched off the engine, glanced in the rear-view mirror to smooth back her hair and climbed out with a smile.
"Athol, how lovely to see you. I hope you haven't been waiting for me." Her face and neck were pocked with red blotches; she'd seen the evidence of that in her reflection but hoped he wouldn't notice in the dull light. She took steadying breaths to calm her nerves. There was no sense in letting Andrew ruin what was left of her evening; he'd already done enough damage to her life.
He grinned, kissed her cheek. "Nope. Just got here. I thought I'd swing by after work to see you."
"I'm glad you did." She reached for her purse and slung it over her shoulder. "Come on inside, I'll make us both a cup of tea."
"Thanks, that sounds perfect."
"Or maybe even a glass of whiskey."
"Even better," he said with a grin.
Chapter 34
Rebecca
The sand shifted beneath her feet as she made her way up the beach. Each footstep away from the harder sand slowed her pace, but she pushed forward, running as fast as she could. She was puffing hard, her arms pumping by her sides and sweat streaking her face, back. Bare skin glistened beneath the afternoon sun.
Rebecca glanced up ahead and spotted the boxing gym across the street. She stopped at the road to check for traffic, then sprinted over the asphalt, the hard surface a relief after her beach run.
A pelican wandered along the footpath and leapt out of her way as she ran by, wings flapping. She grinned and called out an apology, but continued on her way.
After four months as a resident, Emerald Cove was growing on her. At first, it'd seemed so foreign, so strange after the hum and buzz of city life. The busy tourist season was over, and everything had slowed down to the pace of a snail. Most restaurants weren't even open for dinner these days, and Rebecca was surprised to find that she liked it. Liked the slower pace, enjoyed the fact that wherever she went, locals had begun to recognise her face and called out her name in greeting.
Still, it wasn't her home, and she had to remember that. She might have to move on at any moment; she couldn't get attached. That was what she'd promised herself all those months ago - no more attachments, nothing holding her back. She was starting afresh, and she'd take nothing with her on the way.
She stepped inside the gym, slowed her pace and wove through the small group of boxers to the front of the room.
"Good afternoon, Bec," said a woman with gnarled tree branches for arms.
"Hi, Sam. Did you have a good day?"
"It's getting better by the moment," Sam replied with a wink. "Grab your gloves, we're about to get started."
They warmed up with some jabs, intermingled with a minute on the skipping rope, lunges and a few more jabs in the air. Finally, it was time to box. Rebecca partnered up with Sam. She always went for the instructor when it came time to find a sparring partner; she wanted to challenge herself, to be pushed to be the best she could be.
Sam grunted as she caught each of Rebecca's punches, the two of them switching out holding the pads or wearing the gloves. They took turns as Sam called out the routine to the rest of the group. Rebecca listened, but her mind was intent on one thing - she needed to learn how to defend herself, how to kill if it came to that. She wasn't going to be pushed around again, not by anyone, no matter how big they might be.
They took a break as Rebecca gasped for breath, her arms aching, her legs tired.
"You're getting better, stronger," Sam said, swigging water from a bottle, her skin glistening with sweat. "You gave me some hard hits today."
"Thanks, I've been working at it."
"Yeah, you have. But don't overdo it. Okay? You're pushing yourself, and that's great - I worry you're pushing too hard sometimes. You've got to give your body a chance to recover, have a break every now and then."
Rebecca jogged in place
, leaning her head to one side, then the other to stretch out the stiffness in her neck. Her hands pumped up and down at her sides, still wearing the padded gloves.
"Yeah, okay." She knew she should do it, and perhaps she'd have a day off over the weekend. She wasn't working any shifts this weekend for the first time in months. Usually Franklin gave her the shifts no one else wanted - the cost of being the new recruit, he'd told her when she asked about it.
Well, he could punish her, haze her, push her and needle her all day long. She wasn't going to break, and she wasn't going anywhere. She'd come to the Cove for a reason, and nothing he did would change that. Everything he dished up, she'd have to put up with, since she had nowhere else to go. So while she was there, she might as well build up her strength for the inevitable.
The break over, she took her turn punching the pads again.
"Whoa!" Sam said, stepping back. "Not so hard, Rocky."
Rebecca offered a half smile. "Sorry. I might try the bag for a while."
Sam nodded, waved her away.
Rebecca loved punching the bag. It never complained she hit too hard, never gave up, never got tired of what she dished out. She bounced on her toes, punching, ducking, weaving. She imagined an assailant coming at her, and she'd dodge to one side. They'd throw a kick at her shin, and she'd dance out of the way, then jab, uppercut, hard right to the middle of the bag. Now again. And again.
As she worked, images flashed through her mind's eye. Blood spurting. Bones broken. A hit to her nose that made her see stars. A punch to the gut that stole her breath. Then a journey to the hospital, all flashing lights, white walls and pain, until it faded to darkness.
She stepped back from the bag, undid her gloves and pulled them off, then unwrapped the tape from her hands. They stank of stale sweat. One glance around the room revealed she'd been left in semi-darkness, the other boxers long gone. With a deep breath, she set the gloves in the box with the others, balled the tape to carry back home and wash, and headed out. She jogged across the street, now lit up by overhead lights, and headed down to the sand for the long trek home.
She was strong now. Stronger than she'd ever been. She'd never let herself be weak and vulnerable again. Never let someone hurt her that way, not if she could help it. She picked up the pace, lowered her head and clenched her fists at her sides as she ran.
Chapter 35
Meg
"Did you hear about Martha's formal fiasco?" Tracy asked, her blunt black fringe almost entirely obscuring her dark eyes.
Meg shook her head as she swept the cut strands of hair from the floor into a dustpan.
"Apparently, the boy she was supposed to go with had an asthma attack in the limousine on the way to the RSL club. Poor girl thought he was going to die in her arms." Tracy chuckled as she combed the knots out of a woman's hair. The woman winced in the mirror, but Tracy didn't seem to notice.
"Wow, that would've been scary for her. I hope the driver helped."
"Yeah, he called for an ambulance. Plenty of drama, that's for sure. Poor girl missed most of her own formal."
"What a shame." Meg found it difficult to concentrate on the daily dose of gossip she heard in the salon these days. Although, it gave her a distraction from thinking about her own life for a few hours at least.
The bell over the door rang just as Meg was tipping the hair clippings into a rubbish bin. She glanced up to see Vicky walk through the door, her straight brown hair tied in a loose knot on top of her head.
"Vicky, how lovely to see you," Meg said, genuine affection almost bringing tears to her eyes.
She held it together most of the time, but seeing her friend made her want to burst into tears. She inhaled a slow breath. She couldn't fall apart at work; it was hard enough to get through each workday without giving her colleagues something more to talk about.
"Did you want a cut or a colour or both today?" she said as she ushered Vicky into one of the swivel chairs that were dotted along the wall of the salon facing tall, rectangular mirrors.
Vicky studied her reflection, poked at the shadows beneath her eyes and tugged at her hair. "Ugh. Do I really look like that?"
Meg laughed. "Everyone says that when they sit down. I don't think the florescent lights and massive mirrors are very flattering. You look as beautiful as always."
Vicky grimaced. "Not sure that's as reassuring as you meant it to be." She patted Meg's hand where it rested on her shoulder. "I'd love a cut and a few highlights, please."
"Perfect. How are you going?" Meg slipped a cape around Vicky's thin shoulders, snapping it together in the back.
"I'm okay. I went to see my GP this week. They're running tests but so far have no idea what's wrong with me. Maybe it's nothing. I don't know, I really don't feel great. Not terrible, but not good either. It seems to be getting worse as well."
Meg pushed her eyebrows together. "Really? Oh wow, I'm sorry to hear that. I hope they work it all out soon."
"Me too."
"What's wrong? I mean, what feels bad?” Meg set to work brushing Vicky's hair in long, smooth strokes.
"I'm kind of achy, and my ankles are a little swollen. Plus, I feel tired all the time, and there's this rash…" She lowered her voice, glanced around the salon. "It sounds terrible, I know, but I've got a little red dotty rash across my stomach. The doc said not to worry, it's probably viral, definitely not contagious he said, but still…ugh."
Meg shook her head. "I'm sure it's nothing, like the doctor said - probably a virus."
"Yeah, I guess. How about you? How's things?"
Meg's lips pursed, and she tugged scissors from her tidy tray and began snipping Vicky's straight brown hair, tidying up the ends.
"I'm okay, I suppose. I feel a little better, haven't been crying as much lately." She chuckled. "I sound pathetic."
"Not at all. You're grieving, as anyone would in your situation." Vicky patted Meg's hand again.
Meg shook her head slowly. "I know. I'm still getting letters from Brad, which is good, I think. He talks about his parents' dogs a lot." She laughed; it seemed so bizarre, but perhaps it was all he was willing to share with her for now. "And he gives me blow-by-blow descriptions of all of his physical therapy sessions, how he's progressing and so on. Seems like he's really improving - he's built some upper body strength, is able to do a lot of things around the house on his own now, can swim laps in their home pool."
"That's amazing, Meg. I'm so glad he's getting better. He must be feeling more mentally healthy as well, with all of that going on."
Meg shrugged. "Seems like it, I guess. He still won't talk to me on the phone or see me in person, it's only letters back and forth, which is frustrating in one way, but kind of romantic in another. Don't you think?"
"Absolutely," Vicky agreed. "It's very romantic and probably a good way to give him space but keep up the connection."
"Yeah. Maybe you're right - but whenever I bring it up, he's still adamant about the annulment. He doesn't want to be married to me any longer. I've got the paperwork at home, ready to go, but I haven't been able to sign it…" Meg pressed her lips together, unable to go on. The thought of losing Brad didn't bring her to tears so much anymore, but it filled her heart with an aching dread and swamped her with a fatigue that made her want to go to bed and sleep for a decade.
She set the scissors on the tray again, rubbed a hand over her face. It was hard to talk about, but Vicky was the only person she'd been able to confide in about everything that was going on in her life.
Vicky spun in her chair to face Meg, her hair damp from the water Meg had sprayed it with. She grabbed Meg's hands and squeezed them. "Don't sign the papers if you're not sure. Wait. There's no rush. If you're not ready to give up on him, then don't."
Meg's throat closed over, and she blinked back the tears she'd thought were already spent. "Okay."
Chapter 36
Sarah
"Are you sure you want to do this?" Sarah asked as she tugged a black knit cap d
own over her hair, then tucked the length of it up into a bun held in place by the cap.
"Yeah, of course. Let's do this thing." Mick's eyes glinted in the dull light that emanated from the cafe's outdoor seating several feet away.
They were hidden by the set of bushes that lined one side of the cafe, could peer through the branches to see what was going on inside, but in their dark clothing, Sarah assumed they wouldn't be seen by anyone.
She crouched low and pushed aside some branches. "So, what we're looking for is…well, anything really. Anything that looks a bit strange. I really don't know how it might play out. It could be nothing. But Mum and I can't figure out how we're losing so much money during happy hour unless someone is stealing it. And I can't imagine any of the staff letting a customer behind the bar to do it, so it has to be a staff member. Something Mum is refusing to face, I might add."
Mick chuckled softly. "I understand, I wouldn't want any of my guys to turn out to be crooks. You spend all day, every day with them, it starts to feel a bit like family."
Sarah cocked her head to one side, studying him. "We've got to figure this out, or Mum might lose everything."
He held up a thumb. "Got it. Don't worry, I'm sure we'll get to the bottom of it. After all, we are dressed as super spies, so really, what could possibly go wrong?"
She ignored his sarcasm and patted the backpack on the ground in front of her. "Have you got your camera?"
"My phone," he said with a nod.
"But that won't pick up much in the dark," she objected.
"I'll use a flash."
"Great, Sherlock, that won't give you away at all. Very spy-like."
He bumped a shoulder against hers. "Hey, no need for sarcasm. I'll pretend I'm a tourist."
She giggled at that, then the giggle grew until she had to clamp a hand over her mouth. He watched with amusement, one eyebrow arched.
"What's so funny?"
She gasped for breath. "A tourist all dressed in black taking photos in the dark." She burst into another giggle as she pressed her backpack to her face to stifle the sound. This time, he giggled as well. She kept imagining the scenario and bursting into a fresh round of laughter until finally she was spent and her stomach ached.