‘But I ran out two days ago.’ He looked close to tears. ‘The pills are the only thing that keep me going. Some days I wish I could die.’ His voice cracked a little on the last word.
Layla’s whole body tightened. She’d heard those words before, from him and some of her other customers, and they always took her back to the way she had felt in the weeks and months after she’d left Glasswater Bay … except that her pain hadn’t been the kind she could medicate with painkillers. That feeling still lived inside her, lurking in wait. She squeezed her hands together so her voice would come out steady. ‘I wish I could help you, but these drugs aren’t good for you to take long-term.’
His face sagged into a half-smile. ‘It’s OK, love. I know you’re just doin’ your job. If I could just have me script back, I’ll be out of your hair.’
Layla raised her eyebrows at him.
‘I know, I know,’ he relented. ‘You can’t give it back. I’ll see you next time.’
Layla helped him to his feet and watched as he hobbled out the door, leaning heavily on his walking stick.
‘Poor guy,’ Christine said as Layla joined her behind the counter. ‘You know he’s only in his sixties? And his life is ruined.’
Layla would usually remind Christine that chronic illness didn’t mean a person’s life was over; one of the things she loved about her job was helping people live their lives to the fullest. But ever since she’d got that message, all she could think about were the lives she’d ruined all those years ago. And despite her determination to close that chapter, it was all starting to come back in technicolour detail.
THEN
Friday nights at the cafe were always frantic. The Rusty Anchor across the street was the only pub in Glasswater Bay, and notorious for its cheerfully terrible food, so the after-work crowd always spilled over the road to the cafe when they needed to soak up the week’s worth of booze they’d just consumed.
Yumi and I zoomed between tables, taking orders with a side of sleaze from the more inebriated clientele. By the time Scott sent the chef home at ten o’clock, my feet were killing me and there were still no signs of the cafe emptying.
‘Laaaylaaa,’ sang a bloke from one of the nearby tables. His mates guffawed as he warbled the rest of the verse from the Eric Clapton song.
I rolled my eyes. ‘Never heard that one before, Matty.’
‘Wouldn’t mind gettin’ you on your knees,’ he muttered under his breath.
I flushed as I cleared the empty West End Draught bottles from the table. Matty Cartwright was one of Glasswater Bay’s two sparkies, but he got most of the local work on account of being from one of the town’s oldest families. He was doing pretty well for a guy in his twenties and, as a result, thought the sun shone out of his arse. Everyone thought he was a harmless larrikin, but he still gave me the creeps. As I was walking away, his hand shot out and clenched one of my buttocks, strong fingers digging in as he pinched hard. The shock of the act bolted straight to my heart. The empty bottle I’d tucked under my arm slipped out and clanged on the floor, then rolled across the wooden floorboards with a slow rumble.
Matty and his mates started laughing again, and the gazes of other customers prickled my skin. Fright and humiliation channelled into fury, and I rounded on him and hissed, ‘Don’t touch me!’
‘Aw, c’mon,’ he drawled. ‘I’m just havin’ a bit of fun. Can’t you take a compliment?’
I bent to retrieve the bottle from under the table, my face burning, then retreated to the safety of the counter as he and his mates started up their stupid singing again.
‘What happened?’ Scott asked. ‘Was he giving you a hard time?’
‘He fucking groped me.’ To my horror, tears rose in my eyes and I swiped at them.
Scott gave an exasperated sigh and turned back to the register, and my embarrassment deepened. Since I’d worked in the cafe, I’d seen Yumi brush off similar encounters with barely a grimace, but the men usually left me alone. I used to wish for such a problem; to be attractive enough that guys couldn’t keep their hands off me, and now someone had finally considered my body worthy of touching and I’d totally overreacted. Scott probably thought I was a childish idiot.
But then he marched over to the table with the bill, slapped it down and plucked the half-drunk beer bottle out of Matty’s hand. ‘Pay your bill and get out.’ He pointed to the door.
‘What the fuck?’ Matty said. ‘I just paid for that beer.’
‘Actually, you didn’t. I’ve taken it off your bill. Now pay and leave.’
‘Who do you think you are?’ Matty stood up, his face red with anger, and his chair clattered over. ‘My money not good enough for you, mate?’
Scott got up in Matty’s face and stabbed a finger in his chest. ‘If you come into my cafe and grope my staff, you’re not welcome here.’
There was a tense moment as the two men glared at each other, and just as it looked like Matty might punch Scott in the face, one of his mates handed Scott two fifty-dollar notes and gave Matty a shove towards the door.
‘C’mon, mate, let it go.’
They stumbled out the door, Matty still swearing to himself, and it clanged closed behind them. Yumi and I watched Scott as he calmly righted the chair and began to clear the table.
‘My hero,’ Yumi murmured.
Most of the rowdy tables went quiet after that, and soon the patrons started to leave. A couple of them gave Scott affectionate slaps on the back as they left, but none of them said a word to me.
I was all mixed up inside. While I was grateful to Scott for sticking up for me, I still had to live in the same town as Matty and everyone else who had witnessed the confrontation I’d caused. I shouldn’t have been so sensitive. Should’ve taken it as a compliment, as Matty himself had said.
Yumi yawned as she wiped down tables, erasing wet rings from beer bottles and brushing off crumbs.
‘You go home, Yumi,’ Scott called from across the room. ‘You look exhausted. Layla and I will finish up here.’
I tried to hide my annoyance as Yumi took off her apron and waved goodbye. She got an early minute while I was stuck here cleaning up?
Scott balanced the till while I finished cleaning off the tables and stacked the dishwasher. We didn’t speak, and I ached with misery at the thought that he might be disappointed in me. It was only as we stepped out into the chill of the night and Scott locked the door behind us that I dared to speak. ‘I’m sorry about earlier. With Matty.’
He turned to face me. ‘What are you apologising for? Matty’s a dickhead and everyone knows it. I went to school with him and he was a dickhead then too.’
‘I shouldn’t have made such a big deal out of it.’
‘Christ, Layla. You’re a bloody teenager. No one has the right to treat you like that.’
There was that warm feeling again. ‘Well, thanks for having my back.’
One side of his mouth twitched upwards in a crooked smile. ‘Anytime, babe. You let me know if he ever pulls that shit again.’
A frisson of pleasure tingled down my spine. ‘Careful. I might start thinking there are decent guys in this town after all.’
The crinkles appeared around his eyes as he gave a low chuckle. ‘I don’t know about that.’
‘No, I guess all the good ones are already taken.’ I gave him an arch smile, then looked away to hide my embarrassment, studying the row of gum trees that lined the median strip in the centre of the street. Typical that I would finally get up the courage to flirt with the most unavailable person possible.
He laughed again. ‘Well, you found one, didn’t you? Rasheed, wasn’t it? The Khan boy?’
I hoped the street lighting was dim enough that he wouldn’t see the colour creep up my neck and into my face. ‘No, that was … no. There’s nothing happening there.’
Scott appraised me for a moment. A light breeze sifted through my ponytail, carrying the salty tang of the sea. Finally, he broke our mutual gaze and glanced up
the main street. ‘Your car nearby?’
‘Just up there.’ I pointed to my red Laser hatch, glinting under a streetlight twenty metres up the road.
‘I’ll walk you.’
We strolled up the street together until we reached my car, then I turned to face him, suddenly awkward. I’d spent countless hours in his company, but we’d never been alone together outside the cafe. It felt different. More intimate. The white noise of the waves crashing on the beach in the distance was the only sound as our eyes met again. ‘Well, thanks again.’
He reached out and hooked a bit of loose hair behind my ear, and as he did, his fingers brushed my cheek. ‘Goodnight, Layla.’
Shock zapped through me, both because he’d touched me and at the current of electricity that sizzled under my skin. I tore my gaze away from his to open the car door. ‘’Night.’
As I buckled my seatbelt and started the engine, I watched Scott striding away up the street, his hands in his pockets. I touched my face where his fingers had grazed my skin.
On the drive home, his words ran on an endless loop in my mind.
Anytime, babe.
You’re a bloody teenager.
Anytime, babe.
You’re a bloody teenager.
I hadn’t imagined that jolt of electricity, I was sure of it. Had he felt it too? Or worse, had he noticed my reaction and was on his way home to join his wife in bed and laugh about the kid at work who had a crush on him?
My heart sped even faster at the thought of seeing him at work the next day.
NOW
Layla kept her eyes averted from the mirror as she stepped out of the shower and towelled herself dry. Most days, she set her alarm early and got up before Cam, before the children, so she could set her armour firmly in place; apply the layers that cushioned her from the world. But first, she let the towel drop to the floor and steeled herself to look in the mirror.
First, her face. Her nose, which always looked slightly too broad. The clusters of tiny pimples that congregated around her temples the week before her period started. The translucent grey shadows beneath her eyes. The way the skin of her cheeks had become looser, saggier over the years.
Then her gaze dropped to her breasts. Pathetically small, as they’d always been, but after breastfeeding two children they’d lost their perkiness and drooped downwards. Her stomach, crisscrossed with pearlescent stretch marks, had never regained its tone and was white and dimpled. The swell of her hips, covered with the extra padding that hadn’t gone away after her pregnancies.
She clenched her stomach against the wave of hatred. It hurt. Every time, it hurt. She’d tried so hard to maintain the figure of her youth, but each year added new imperfections to her body, new lines, new flesh, and now this was what she was. She slipped on the satin dressing gown that hung from the bathroom door and tied it around her waist, concealing her detestable body.
Her make-up bag was already open on the bathroom bench. She moisturised her face, then applied the primer with the first two fingers of both hands. Then she took up her brush and applied an even coat of foundation over her face and down her neck. Concealer followed to hide the dark smudges beneath her eyes, then highlighter along her cheekbones, chin and between her eyebrows. Contour powder along the sides of her nose and under her cheekbones. Blush on her cheeks. Two shades of eyeshadow, perfectly blended. Eyeliner, hugging her lash line. Mascara. An eyebrow pencil. Finally, she coloured in her lips with a creamy natural rose lipstick.
The woman who stared back at her looked familiar. Presentable. Adequate, at least. She breathed more easily as she packed her tools back in her bag.
There was a light knock on the door and Cam stepped in. His arms encircled her from behind and there was a hint of mischievous amusement in his eyes as he slid a hand inside her gown.
She smiled at his reflection. ‘I need to get dressed for work.’
‘I know.’ His other hand pulled the bow of her gown free and he slipped it off one shoulder. ‘But you need to take this off to get dressed.’
The open gown exposed the spongy white flesh of her stomach and panic leapt inside Layla. She gathered it around her again and stepped out of his reach. ‘I need to get ready. Sorry.’
‘I’m not trying to start anything.’ There was hurt in his eyes, as there always was when she hid her body from him. ‘I just feel like I never see you anymore. You know I’m more attracted to you now than when we met?’
She laughed. ‘Yeah, right!’
‘It’s true.’ He put his arms around her waist, and she stood on her tiptoes to kiss him.
‘Well, thanks for saying so.’
‘I’m not just saying so. I love the way you look. I always have.’
Layla buried her head in his chest and hugged him tight. There was no way he could be happy with the body she’d just seen in the mirror; her whole life, men had told her all the things that were wrong with it. But she knew he wanted her to feel good about herself, and she loved him for that.
Every now and then, a Facebook memory would pop up from some party or another she’d been to in her twenties. She’d be drunk, of course, clinging onto some random she’d met that night whom she’d ended up going home with for bad sex in the hope of drowning out the dark undercurrent that had always drifted along at the bottom of her mind. Every time she saw these photos she was shocked at how thin she’d been, how shiny those moments from her youth seemed now. She remembered the unhappiness that had pervaded her life back then, and knew how much better things were these days. But still, the photos were a bludgeon on her floundering self-esteem. How could she not have appreciated what she’d looked like when she was young? How could she not have known that she’d never look that good again? And, worse, how could she have let herself get like this in the first place?
At least Cam seemed willing to put up with her, even if just for the sake of their relationship. For now, anyway. He was the best thing that had ever happened to Layla, and she couldn’t take him for granted. She raised her head to kiss him again.
He pushed her hair back from her face and smiled. ‘You are a very sexy woman, Layla Flynn.’ He bent to kiss her neck, his hand running over her shoulder, down her waist and hip, in between her thighs. His fingers found her, and the breath escaped her lips. ‘Is this OK?’ he asked.
‘It’s very OK.’ Her breathing quickened as he stroked her lightly. A warmth spread through her body, sparking, crackling, ready to ignite.
Then came the unmistakeable thunder of four small feet running up the hallway, and the warm feeling dissolved.
‘Bloody cockblockers!’ Layla gasped, resting her forehead against Cam’s chest.
He chuckled. ‘I could go and put the TV on and come back?’
She groaned. ‘I’d better get ready for work. But thanks.’
He kissed her cheek, and Layla retied her robe as he opened the bathroom door to two tousled heads and fresh smiles.
‘Mummy! Mummy! Louis is a poo head!’ Ella crowed.
‘Ella is a poo-bum wee face!’ Louis retaliated.
‘I AM NOT!’ she screamed back at him, her face turning pink. Within seconds, they were shoving each other and bellowing.
‘Breakfast time!’ Cam shouted over them, taking their hands and marching them out of the ensuite as Layla turned back to the mirror to reapply her smudged lipstick.
*
Layla raised one hand to shade her eyes from the final rays of the sun as it set over Nathan and Mei’s backyard. She hadn’t realised it had got so late – it was already past the kids’ bedtime, but Louis was still tearing around the backyard with the other two kids. Ella was happily ensconced on Cam’s lap.
The wine had made Layla’s limbs pleasantly heavy.
‘Top-up?’ Mei said, the bottle of wine in her hand.
Layla and Cam exchanged glances. ‘Go ahead,’ he said. ‘I can drive.’
She flashed him a grateful smile and held out her glass.
It had been more than a
week since Jodie’s message, and her fear had begun to ebb away with each day. And it had been such a lovely afternoon with their friends; the sensational pork ribs Nathan had cooked on the Weber, the wine, the conversation, the mild summer day. Even the kids had behaved themselves. She brushed Ella’s soft cheek with the back of her hand.
‘She’s almost asleep,’ she said to Cam.
He kissed the top of their daughter’s head. ‘We may as well stay a bit longer, then.’
‘Hey, Mum?’ yelled Hunter, Nathan and Mei’s eldest son. ‘Can we go and play inside?’
‘Of course you can,’ Mei called back. ‘Just make sure you look after Louis, OK?’
‘Yeah, you’d better keep an eye on him. He’s got a destructive streak in him; I don’t know where he gets it from,’ Cam joked.
Layla almost dropped her wineglass. Bright fear leapt inside her at the memory of the destruction she’d once caused. ‘What year will your two be in at school next year?’ she blurted out to Mei.
‘Hunter’s going into Year Three and Hugo will be in Year One,’ Mei said. ‘I can’t believe how quickly it’s gone. Louis will be at school before you know it.’
Layla took a deep breath, felt her composure returning. ‘I’m already emotional about him starting kindy. I’ll be crying and drinking in the car after dropping him off.’
‘Speaking of drinking in cars,’ Nathan said. ‘Did I ever tell you guys about the time I almost ran over my dad when I was sixteen?’
‘What? No!’ Mei spluttered.
‘Yeah, I was sitting in my car in the driveway sneaking a beer when Dad came out of the house. I panicked and went to take off, but I forgot to put the car in reverse and I ploughed straight into him instead.’
Mei clapped her hand over her mouth. ‘Oh my god!’
‘He was fine,’ Nathan said. ‘Well, mostly. The car knocked him over, but he only got a few bruises. He was pretty furious though.’
‘Guess you were in trouble after that?’ Cam said.
‘Yeah, I was grounded for a month,’ Nathan said.
Mei gave him a push. ‘I can’t believe you never told me about that!’
The Girl She Was Page 3