The Girl She Was

by Rebecca Freeborn

  ‘No!’ Louis crowed, his face turning red. ‘It was yucky!’

  Cam raised his eyebrows at Layla, and she shrugged. ‘Apparently, spaghetti is the only decent food in the whole world. How was your day?’

  ‘Busy. Oh, that reminds me, I ran into Nathan today. He’s invited us over for a barbecue lunch next Saturday.’

  ‘The kids are having their hair cut at two. I told you that, didn’t I?’ Layla tried not to show her exasperation. Cam was a brilliant commercial lawyer and senior associate in his firm, but outside of a professional setting he was a complete scatterbrain.

  ‘Crap, I forgot, sorry. I can call tomorrow and see if we can make the appointments earlier?’

  But Layla knew it’d disappear from his mind the second he got to work, and she’d end up doing it herself. She was the one who made all the appointments, who remembered when vaccinations were due, who thought about and organised Book Week costumes for child care, who had researched the local kindergartens for Louis next year. She didn’t love these responsibilities, but she knew, with a sharp knock of horror, how much worse her life could’ve been.

  That reminded her of the message, and she moved in close and put her arm around her husband’s waist, drawing his warmth into her own body as if to convince herself that he was real, that she didn’t have to be afraid. Cam looked down at her with a grin, but Louis was shrieking to be an aeroplane now, so Layla stepped away to make room for Cam to hoist him sideways and swing him around in mad circles. Ella jumped up and down, her eyes bright with excitement as she waited for her turn.

  Layla knew they’d take forever to get to sleep now that Cam had revved them up, but it was so lovely to watch her beautiful man playing with their children. Besides, the one thing Cam committed to every night was getting the kids to bed. He read them books and tickled them and lay beside them in their beds until they drifted off to sleep, leaving Layla free to shake the day off her shoulders. She leant against the bench and smiled. She was so lucky.

  ‘OK, kiddos, time for bed,’ Cam announced. ‘Say goodnight to Mummy.’

  Layla swept them into her arms. Her patience, worn thin from the long day, softened into tenderness as their little arms tightened around her neck. She murmured endearments to them and kissed the sweet spot below their ears.

  Cam took her hand and gave it a quick squeeze. ‘Sit down and relax. Let’s order takeaway for dinner.’

  Layla was neither hungry nor satisfied after she’d eaten the kids’ rejected meals earlier, but she said nothing as he flung a child over each shoulder and carried them up the hallway. She poured herself a glass of riesling and sat down on the couch with a grateful sigh. As soon as the kids’ giggles softened to murmurs behind the closed bedroom door, she took out her phone and opened Messenger. The woman in the profile picture stared back at her from the little circle at the top of her list of messages. Jodie Telford. The mere sight of her name sent the tide of memories washing over Layla again. That year, the year she was seventeen, had changed her life. She had assumed the secret would remain locked inside her. Until tonight.

  I know what you did.

  Why would Jodie contact her now, after all these years? If she really knew what Layla had been responsible for, surely she would’ve done something about it twenty years ago? She must be bluffing. Layla was thirty-seven years old. She had a career, a family. She couldn’t allow herself to be intimidated by empty words. Her thumb hovered over the ‘delete’ icon.

  ‘What are you looking at?’

  Layla gasped as Cam placed a hand on her shoulder.

  ‘Nothing.’ She locked the phone and dropped it in her lap, twisting to look up at her husband.

  He raised his eyebrows. ‘You were staring pretty intensely at nothing.’

  She let out a nervous laugh. ‘I was just zoning out. I’m really tired.’

  ‘Messaging your secret boyfriend, were you?’ He was smiling, but there was a strained look around his eyes that told her what the joke cost him.

  ‘Ha! When would I find time for a secret boyfriend?’

  His expression relaxed. ‘Do you know where Ella’s drink bottle is?’

  She pointed at the bench. ‘Up there. Do you need help?’

  He squeezed her shoulder. ‘Nah, you’ve spent all day with them; bedtime is my job. I’ll leave you to your “zoning out”.’

  She let out her breath as he returned to Ella’s room. She hadn’t heard him come out, so she had no idea how long he’d been behind her, and how much he’d seen. She’d have to be more careful.

  THEN

  There were no customers in the cafe when I stepped out in my black jeans and shirt, my school uniform stuffed into my bag. Yumi stood behind the counter, lazily twisting the end of her long, black ponytail around her finger and staring off into the distance. I dumped my bag under the counter and nudged her arm, and her face lit up with her characteristic brilliant smile.

  ‘Quiet afternoon?’ I said.

  She groaned. ‘Dead. Lunch was busy, but I’ve only had a few takeaway coffees since two. At least the view’s been good.’ She indicated our boss and owner of the cafe, Scott, who was cleaning one of the tables, his black shirtsleeves rolled up above his elbows.

  ‘Have his wife and kids been in today?’ I darted her a cheeky look. Yumi had been lusting after Scott for ages – or at least since we’d both started working at the cafe last year.

  ‘A girl can dream, can’t she?’

  I tied my black apron around my waist. ‘As long as it’s only dreaming.’

  I would never admit as much to her, but I had a bit of a crush on Scott myself – I mean, who wouldn’t? He was super hot, with his sandy hair that flopped boyishly over his forehead, his clear blue eyes that crinkled at the corners when he smiled, and his honeyed skin. At twenty-eight, he was old enough to seem terribly grown up but still young enough to be cool. And he treated us like adults, which was more than I could say for most people in this town. He may have lived here his whole life, but at least he was making an effort to drag Glasswater Bay into the modern age; he’d opened the town’s first proper cafe when he was in his early twenties. Everyone had assumed there’d be no appetite for flat whites, macchiatos and focaccias over the town’s original tearooms, and the older generation had shaken their heads at Scott’s arrogance, buying that huge floor space in the blind belief that it would be a success. But it was – with its close proximity to the beach, the cafe was a hit with tourists on weekends, and regularly frequented by locals. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t proud to be working at one of Glasswater Bay’s few success stories. Besides, Scott made me feel good. He called me ‘babe’, and he touched my back when he passed behind me at the counter, and his eyes sparkled when he pulled on my hair in his good-natured way.

  Yumi hung her apron on the hook next to the dishwasher. ‘Well, I’d better be off. Gotta drive back to town tonight.’

  ‘Big night out?’

  ‘Big night of studying, more like, then back-to-back tutes for the rest of the week before I drive back here for the Friday-night shift.’

  ‘I don’t get why you keep living in Glasswater. As soon as I get into uni I’ll be out of this shithole town.’

  ‘I can’t afford to live in Adelaide, and while I love my grandparents, I couldn’t handle living with them more than a few nights a week. But once I finish uni and get a job, I’ll move there. Until then, I’m stuck in Glasswater Bay and saving money while working in this place.’

  ‘And perving on Scott.’

  ‘Swings and roundabouts, girlfriend. See you Friday night.’

  I watched as she crossed the floor of the cafe, her narrow waist above the smooth curve of her hips, pert butt in tight jeans, and for the thousandth time I wondered if I’d ever fill out my own jeans like that. She bumped fists with Scott, then stepped out onto the footpath and set off up the main street. Scott came over to the counter with his irresistible grin that always made me feel a little bit warm inside.

 
‘Hey, you.’ He tugged the end of my plait. ‘Good day at school?’

  ‘Fine,’ I lied.

  After the episode with Rasheed at the social, the last few days had been insufferable. The popular girls sneered at me with disdain, while the unpopular ones cast me envious glances whenever I walked by. And as for the boys, they ignored me altogether, which, let’s face it, was nothing out of the ordinary. Except Rasheed, of course, who was too shy to do anything bolder than make brief eye contact across the classroom in Biology. My friends defended me fiercely, but it didn’t stop me from feeling like a total loser. We’d always enjoyed the comfortable middle ranking at school, liked (or at least tolerated) by almost everyone, but the kiss had brought my previous under-the-radar existence out into the light, and not in a good way.

  Scott lifted a tray of glasses onto the counter, the veins in his forearms standing out like cords. I allowed my mind (admittedly, not for the first time) to turn over what it might be like to kiss someone who knew what he was doing. Someone who had arms like those. If kissing happened the way it did in my head, maybe I’d actually enjoy it.

  Scott looked up then and caught me watching him. He raised an eyebrow as if he’d read my thoughts. A warm flush of embarrassment – and something else, something a lot more pleasurable – spread in my chest and worked its way down low. I ducked my head to hide my face, which I knew from experience would have turned a vivid shade of magenta.

  There’d always been something about Scott’s raw male presence that intoxicated me, especially in comparison with my classmates. Of course, the classroom environment didn’t exactly help, but still. This felt different; the space between us had a physical presence all of its own, pressing up against me as if daring me to push back. Or maybe it was all in my imagination.

  The door of the cafe swung open and three girls from school swept in on a gale of giggles. This was the downside of working in the only cafe in Glasswater Bay – everyone who came in knew who I was and where I lived and who my parents were and what year I was in at school and which uni course I was going to apply for when I finished Year Twelve. Anonymity was not an option. When the girls noticed me behind the counter, they exchanged glances and giggled again. Katrina was one of the only girls at school who’d ever given me any trouble, and the other two were her hangers-on who followed her lead in everything.

  ‘Hi, Layla,’ trilled Katrina, tossing her sleek blonde hair over her shoulder.

  ‘Hey,’ I mumbled.

  ‘Three lattes, please,’ she said, and the other two laughed again as if she’d made a hilarious joke.

  ‘I’ll make them,’ Scott said. ‘You catch up with your friends.’

  I started to protest, but he was already behind the coffee machine.

  ‘So, Layla,’ Katrina said slyly. ‘You had a pretty good time at the social last week.’

  ‘Yeah, how is Rasheed?’ one of the other girls said.

  Katrina held my gaze, her pale eyes like ice chips. ‘I hear it was your first kiss.’

  ‘Ooooh!’ chorused the other two, and my face flushed hot once again.

  ‘Rasheed Geekface wouldn’t have been my first choice,’ Katrina went on. ‘But I guess beggars can’t be choosers, can they?’

  In my peripheral vision, I saw Scott glance over at me, and the heat in my face intensified. ‘Seven fifty, thanks.’

  Katrina handed over a ten-dollar note, and I shoved her change at her without meeting her eyes.

  ‘Why don’t you girls sit down?’ Scott said. ‘I’ll bring your coffees over in a minute.’

  Katrina looked at Scott as if noticing him for the first time, and a slow smile spread across her face. ‘That’d be great, thanks,’ she said silkily.

  She strutted across the room to one of the dark wooden tables near the window, which offered a sliver of a view of the bay. The other girls followed.

  Scott sidled across to stand beside me. ‘Guess they’re not your friends, then?’

  ‘Not so much.’

  We watched as they took turns whispering and shrieking with laughter.

  ‘They remind me of seagulls,’ Scott said. ‘Squawking away like that. Sometimes I forget you’re just a schoolkid … you’re so much more mature than this lot.’

  I ducked down and opened the door of the dishwasher to hide my smile. He thought I was mature. Katrina’s teasing suddenly meant nothing to me.

  It was only as I watched Katrina batting her lashes and tilting her head to the side like a demented canary as Scott delivered their coffees that I remembered he’d overheard that I’d only just kissed someone for the first time. My smile dissolved as his words rang in my ears.

  You’re just a schoolkid.

  NOW

  Layla was already running late for work on Saturday morning, and had nearly finished her toast when Cam held the phone out to her and mouthed your mother. He gave a wry smile.

  Her mother always called on the landline, so Layla couldn’t even put her on speaker and rush out the door. She almost asked Cam to take a message, but she knew the conversation would be quick, efficient; the bare essentials. That was the way it’d been since, well, pretty much since they’d left Glasswater Bay.

  ‘Hi, Mum.’

  ‘How are you, Layla?’

  ‘Running late for work, actually. What’s up?’

  ‘Oh, sorry, I keep forgetting you work on Saturdays.’ There was a hint of relief in her voice. No need for small talk. ‘This will just take a minute. I was wondering if you had plans with your father for Christmas?’

  ‘No, he’s going to Sydney this year with Petra.’ Layla pondered how easy it was these days to speak the name of her father’s second wife. She’d spent years hating him for his weakness, for not being able to make it work with her mother. Hating herself too, of course, for her own hand in it. But over time, resentment had mellowed into resignation. Understanding, even.

  ‘Oh, lovely,’ her mother said with feigned brightness. ‘What about Cam’s mother?’

  ‘I think she wants to do dinner.’ There was no need to consider Cam’s father. He hadn’t been in the picture for years. ‘Why?’

  ‘I’ve been speaking to Zach and he wants to bring Caitlin around on Christmas Day.’ Her voice took on a genuinely cheerful tone. ‘She’s the first girl he’s been serious enough about to bring home. I thought it might be nice if we all got together for lunch.’

  A faint bitterness prickled Layla’s tongue. It didn’t matter how accomplished she was, how beautiful her children were, how she had built her life up from emptiness to fulfilment, Zach was always the favourite. Sweet, uncomplicated, good-natured Zach, who’d never had a serious girlfriend, who jumped from casual job to casual job, who moved from one rental to the next whenever his lease expired, who’d never set down any roots. But who’d also never made any terrible mistakes.

  ‘Layla?’

  ‘Sorry. Yes, that sounds good.’

  ‘How’s everything at home?’ There was a hint of concern in her mother’s voice that Layla hadn’t heard in a long time, and for a second, she contemplated telling her about the message. The girl she was needed someone to tell her everything was going to be all right, to take over and smooth down the fear and doubt with a firm yet gentle hand.

  But she swallowed down the urge. That girl, and the mum who’d been there for her when she’d needed her most, had to remain in the past. For both their sakes.

  ‘I’m fine,’ she said. ‘I just really need to get to work.’

  *

  The shopping centre car park was packed with Christmas shoppers and it took Layla forever to find a park. She’d taken her coffee in the car to save time, but once she’d touched up her lipstick in the rear-view mirror, she was still ten minutes late. The only thing she hated more than being late for work was appearing in public without her perfectly applied mask in place. She got out of the car and hurried across the car park, her heels clacking over the baking bitumen, the crushed stones within sparkling in the morning sunlig
ht like tiny jewels. The glass doors slid open, and she was hit with a fresh blast of cool air. As she entered the mall, she glanced briefly, as always, at her reflection in the window, cringing, as always, at her gait and the tilt of her head.

  Layla worked every second Saturday at the pharmacy in the shopping mall opposite Coles. Most of the time, she savoured the sweet freedom of walking out the door and leaving Cameron to entertain the kids for the day. But after the conversation with her mother, she was rattled and wished she could’ve remained home with her family, let the cheerful chaos of the household drown out her doubts. No matter how carefully she’d papered over her memories, everything now seemed to be pulling at the edges of the layers.

  Before she even reached the counter, Layla spied the distinctive stoop of Allan Johnson’s shoulders. Normally, she would groan internally at the prospect of dealing with him again, but this morning she grasped at the chance to transform herself into cool, professional Layla who took refuge in rules and laws.

  Christine, the owner of the pharmacy, spoke in a low tone as she handed Layla the prescription behind the dispensing counter. ‘He’s been to a GP out in Salisbury this time.’

  This wasn’t the first time Mr Johnson had come in with an ill-gotten prescription for oxycodone. He was casting an increasingly wider net over the doctors and pharmacists of Adelaide to get the drug sooner than his usual two-month allowance. Layla knew he suffered from a rare autoimmune illness and was afflicted by chronic pain, which only made it harder for her to continually tell him she couldn’t give him the relief he craved in ever stronger doses. She sighed as she wrote down the name of the GP so she could call next week to warn her about him. ‘I’ll talk to him,’ she said to Christine.

  The older man raised his gaze to Layla’s as she sat in the chair beside him. His face, grizzled beyond his years, drooped even further. ‘Let me guess, you can’t give it to me today?’

  ‘I’m so sorry, Mr Johnson, but you know I can’t give you more pills,’ she said gently.