‘Any chance the kids will eat a prawn cocktail?’ Angela asked.
Layla snorted. ‘They don’t eat anything.’
‘It doesn’t last forever, you know.’
‘Feels like it sometimes.’
‘You were a little terror when you were their age.’ Her mum’s face softened into a wistful smile. ‘But by the time you started school you were an angel. Your father and I were so proud of you. So smart and so focused.’
Layla pressed her lips together and looked away. Whenever she thought about what she’d put her parents through, shame stamped down on her. ‘I wasn’t smart all the time,’ she said in a low voice.
Angela’s hands paused in their prawn-cocktail assembly. She didn’t look up at Layla when she spoke. ‘It doesn’t matter now.’
The tension stretched between them. Layla had the urge to escape back to her family, but how could she ignore the enormous sacrifice her mother had once made for her? ‘That doesn’t take back what I did.’
‘That whole episode is well and truly in the past.’ Angela’s voice was strained.
A flurry of emotion overwhelmed Layla, and she rested her elbows on the bench and buried her face in her hands. After a moment, her mother’s hand landed on her shoulder. ‘Layla, what’s wrong? Why are you bringing this up now?’
After leaving Glasswater Bay, they’d never spoken about what she’d done, but ever since Layla had got that first message, she’d found it harder and harder to push her memories into the background. It had opened the floodgates, and she wasn’t sure if it was going to be possible to stuff everything back in.
‘Do you get lonely?’ she asked through her hands.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Since Dad left. Are you lonely, by yourself?’
‘Layla.’ Angela gave her shoulders a little shake. ‘Please tell me what’s wrong.’
Finally, Layla met her mother’s eyes. ‘I got a message. From Jodie Telford. She knows what I did.’
Angela’s face blanched. ‘But how?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘What does she want?’
‘I have no idea—’
‘Mummy!’ Ella raced into the kitchen and wrapped her arms around one of Layla’s legs. There was a smear of chocolate on her cheek. ‘Wanna cuddle.’
Layla picked her up and sat her on the edge of the bench, and Ella hugged her around the neck, blonde curls tickling Layla’s face. ‘Your uncle has been spoiling you again, hasn’t he?’ Layla scrubbed at the chocolate with a thumb. Her eyes met her mother’s over Ella’s head, but there was no more time to talk, because now Zach was in the kitchen too.
‘Guilty,’ he said with a rueful smile.
Then Cam came in behind him and put his arm around Layla’s waist, inhaling the smell of roast chicken from the oven. ‘Smells delicious, Angela.’
‘It’s almost ready,’ she said. ‘And entree is done. Everyone ready to eat?’
Layla didn’t get another moment alone with her mother for the rest of the afternoon as everyone pulled Christmas crackers, read out the terrible jokes, stuffed themselves full of food and covered the living-room floor in a sea of torn wrapping paper. So when they left a few hours later, juggling dozens of presents, she still hadn’t had the chance to discuss the problem of the messages.
THEN
‘Help me make the coffees, Layla?’ Scott said on Saturday night as Yumi cleaned the empty tables. It was half an hour before closing and there was one table of patrons left; a group of elderly tourists who were travelling around the coast of Australia. When they’d first come in, we’d assumed they’d have a quiet dinner and leave early, but they’d been here for hours, chatting animatedly and catching up on travel stories.
I joined Scott behind the coffee machine. This was the closest we’d been in a week and I’d been going crazy, over-analysing everything to the point of paralysis before forcing myself to accept that the kiss would never be repeated. But now, as I frothed the milk for the coffees, I was hyper-aware of his presence. The fine hairs on my skin sprang up as he leant across me to grab another cup and his arm brushed against mine.
He glanced at me with a half-smile. ‘Sorry.’
‘No problem.’ I smiled back, and there it was again, that little shot of electricity that made me feel invincible yet defenceless.
We finished the coffees and I took them out to the group. ‘Thanks, dear,’ one woman said as I placed her coffee in front of her. ‘This is such a lovely town; so quaint! I wish we could stay for another few days.’
‘You probably wouldn’t love it so much if you had to live here,’ I said as I collected the used cups.
She chuckled. ‘Oh, I remember what it was like to grow up in a small town. But my home town was nowhere near as pretty as this.’
‘That beautiful bay!’ exclaimed the woman beside her. ‘It reminds me of San Sebastian. Have you ever been there, love? It’s in Spain.’
‘I’ve never been overseas,’ I admitted. ‘But my friends and I are going to backpack around Europe someday.’ I smiled at the thought of the dreams we’d once had back when we’d first started high school.
‘Good on you, dear.’
‘Can I get you anything else?’
‘Just the bill, please.’
*
When the group finally left, the silence was like an animal crouching in the shadows.
‘Want me to balance the till?’ I asked Scott.
‘Sure, thanks, Layla.’ His hand touched my back, featherlight. It was just for a second, but it was enough to set my heart flapping against my chest.
He stood beside me as I counted up the cash and reconciled it against the sales, and gradually we drew closer together until his arm was pressed against mine. He wore no cologne; there was just the faintly earthy smell of his sweat overlaid with the synthetic pine scent of deodorant. A man’s smell. I breathed it in, trying to concentrate on the money, but I kept losing count and having to start over. I swore and Scott glanced down at me with an amused smile. ‘You all right?’
I grinned at him. ‘Pretty great, actually.’
‘I’m outta here.’ Yumi materialised behind the counter and whipped off her apron. ‘You OK to finish up?’
‘Sure,’ I said, but now that I was faced with being alone with Scott again, nervousness rushed in. What had I been thinking, flirting with him like that? This thing was too big for me; I needed to get out of the situation now before I got myself in too deep.
As soon as I’d finished balancing the till, I took off my apron and hung it on the hook, then went out to the kitchen to get my bag. But just as I was reaching for the doorhandle, the door swung open and hit me right on the nose. ‘Ow!’
‘Oh shit, Layla, I’m sorry!’ Scott was clutching my shoulders as I hunched over, hand over my nose. ‘Are you OK?’
‘Bloody hell.’ My words were muffled through my hand.
‘I didn’t break your nose, did I?’
The throbbing was already subsiding, leaving a fizzing sensation in its place. I was pretty sure my nose wasn’t broken, but the look of genuine concern on Scott’s face was unexpectedly pleasing. I pulled my hand away and glanced at my fingers. ‘No blood. I think I’m going to live.’
His face relaxed into a relieved smile. ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have rushed in here so quickly.’
‘No harm done. Well, maybe a little bit of harm. But I’m all good.’
He dropped one of his hands away from me, but the other one lingered on my shoulder. Our eyes locked, and his gaze darkened. I held my breath as his fingers crept up to the nape of my neck. Goosebumps rose on my skin. Then he splayed his hand on the back of my neck and pulled me towards him. Heat suffused me as he lowered his face to mine. He kissed me harder this time, his tongue exploring my mouth, stubble scraping my face. He dropped his lips to my throat and a zing spiralled down my back as his teeth grazed my skin. I ran my hands over his shoulders, my fingers tracing the muscles through the fabric of hi
s shirt. Then he broke away from me abruptly and backed up until he was against the door.
‘God, Layla, we can’t do this.’ He ran a hand through his hair, his eyes wild.
Shame filtered in around the warm glow that had started up inside me. ‘Sorry.’
‘I thought I could …’ His face was anguished. ‘I’ve tried to stay away from you, but …’
‘Do you want me to quit?’ I said in a small voice.
‘No! I don’t expect you to do yourself out of a job. Fuck.’ He went over to a chair in the corner of the room and collapsed into it. ‘I don’t know what to do.’
He dropped his head into his hands. I kept expecting him to take charge, but now he looked like the teenager, waiting for me to come up with the solution. ‘You’re married,’ I said.
He looked up at me. ‘Yeah.’
‘That means something. Doesn’t it?’ I wasn’t sure what I wanted his answer to be, all I knew was that I needed to confront the situation head-on, no matter how much it hurt.
Scott heaved a sigh. ‘Don’t get married young, Layla. It’ll ruin your life.’
I waited.
‘We were together in high school. Then we were on and off for a couple of years, but it always seemed inevitable that we’d end up together, you know?’ I didn’t, but I let him go on. ‘We got bored, so we got married, thinking that would change everything. Built a house. I bought this cafe. Then Jodie got pregnant and that was it. Life sentence.’
I didn’t want to know, but I asked the question anyway. ‘Do you still love her?’
He sighed again. ‘We’re like housemates. We talk about the kids, and about when the bills are due, and when we’ve run out of milk. There’s no excitement anymore. It’s just … it’s really fucking boring. I thought my life was going to be more than this.’
‘You didn’t answer my question.’
He looked frustrated. ‘There is no answer, Layla. Love is a lie. It tells us stories that aren’t true.’
I didn’t want to believe his words, but he looked so sad that I felt a strange tenderness towards him. ‘Tell me what you want me to do.’
He beckoned to me. ‘Can you come over here?’
I knew I shouldn’t, but now he held me by a thread, tugging me towards him. I approached tentatively, knowing and not knowing what was going to happen. He patted his knee, and after a moment of hesitation I sat down sideways on his lap.
‘No. Like this.’ He stood me up again and turned me to face him, then guided me forwards until my legs straddled his. His hands rested on my hips, the heat of them burning through my jeans. For a few seconds, I entertained the thought of withdrawing, of leaving before things went too far, but then he pulled me down onto his lap and we were kissing again. Doubt nudged at me, but there was no room left for that internal voice now, not when his hands were running up and down my back, not when his tongue was tracing the contours of mine, not when my whole body was coming alive. Scott clutched my buttocks and pulled me against him, and I took in a sharp breath as his erection pressed into my groin. A delicious sense of anticipation began to balloon inside me.
‘Oh god, Layla, I want you so much,’ he breathed in my ear.
He took my hand and moved it down his chest, down his belly, pressed it against the bulge in his jeans. The pleasurable feelings faded into uncertainty. I didn’t know what to do, so I rubbed my hand against him and he let out a long groan. It was only when he began fumbling with his belt that my sense of control disintegrated. Anxiety flooded me and I snatched my hand away and got to my feet. ‘Sorry, I … I can’t. I’m not ready for this. Sorry.’
Scott’s eyes refocused and he stood up too. ‘No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to push you.’
The butterflies in my stomach coupled with embarrassment at my crippling inexperience, leaving me brimming with doubt and poised for flight. ‘I should go.’
He was still breathing heavily. ‘I want you to know that I won’t push you into anything. If you just want to kiss, we’ll just kiss.’
The implications of this both thrilled me and sent a wave of trepidation crashing over me. ‘Are we really going to do this?’
He rested his hands on my waist. ‘I can’t stop thinking about you, Layla. How can it be wrong when it feels this right?’
The logical part of my brain knew his words were clichéd, rehearsed. If Renee and I heard them in a movie, we’d laugh and cross our hands over our hearts and pretend to swoon. But somehow, with my skin still sizzling, I felt their truth deep inside me. They caught up all my tumultuous feelings and swirled them around into a potent cocktail that left me drunk on the possibilities.
Scott kissed me gently, his lips lingering on mine. ‘Can we just see where this takes us?’
I nodded breathlessly.
NOW
Layla’s body was still buzzing when she woke in the early hours of the morning. It had been years since she’d dreamt about Scott, and the pleasant warmth in her belly grappled with her shame. She stretched out her limbs, enjoying the coolness of the sheets against her bare skin. Her fingers drifted down her belly and she allowed her thoughts to turn back to those early days with Scott, when her body had first begun to awaken.
She hadn’t known anything, and she’d let him take charge. It had all been new and exciting, and she’d felt sexy for the first time in her young life – but there’d been a heavy dose of fear there too. Fear of what she didn’t know. Fear of being found out. Fear of losing him. Fear of the power contained within her body; power that, with hindsight, had always been an illusion.
She rolled onto her side and reached out to Cam, trailing her fingers over his chest. He stirred and, barely awake, took her into his arms. She redirected the feelings in her body towards her husband, kissing his chest, her hand seeking him out, guiding him to her. The sex was good. It was always good. If someone had told her back in her twenties that one day she’d have sex approximately one night a week, in the same positions and in the same marital bed, she would’ve scoffed at the mechanical dullness of it.
But it wasn’t dull. It wasn’t mechanical. There was comfort in the familiarity of him, in the gradually softening contours of his body as they aged together, at the certainty that he would make her come, at the warm glow that followed. If only she’d known then what she knew now – that she would only begin to feel comfortable seeking out her own pleasure once she had matured. If only she could learn to feel comfortable in her maturing body. As long as the lights were off, she could enjoy her husband’s touch without the self-consciousness that engulfed her when he could see all her imperfections.
They came together and she collapsed over him, his arms tightening around her. ‘Sorry I woke you up,’ she said.
He laughed. ‘Never apologise for that.’
‘Well, thanks. It was good. You’re good.’ She raised her head to kiss him. ‘I love you.’
‘Hmm, we might have to do this more often if this is how you repay me.’
‘I mean it, Cam.’ Sudden tears stung behind her eyes. ‘If it weren’t for you, I don’t know where I would’ve ended up.’
He shifted beneath her. ‘What do you mean?’
She bit her lip. She couldn’t tell him, not after what had happened with his own father. And she didn’t want him to know about the series of destructive relationships that littered her past, and how far she’d already disappeared inside herself when he walked into the pharmacy that day. How brittle she had been then. How empty. How close to giving up. He had made some lame joke, and she’d laughed, and it was only after he left that she’d realised she couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed spontaneously at anything. He’d come back the next day on the pretence of asking her a question about the antibiotics she’d given him, and then, just before he left, he’d asked her out for coffee. He’d looked at her like she was someone, and she’d felt seen for the first time in years, immediately imagining being looked at like that for years to come. She’d never imagined that about anyo
ne else before. But to articulate all of that now would be too weighty, too loaded. It would upset the balance she’d so carefully curated.
‘Nothing, I’m just glad I found you, that’s all,’ she said.
She got up to go to the bathroom, and when she slid back into the bed, Cam was asleep and snoring lightly. She lay on her back for a while, staring up into the darkness, then reached for her phone.
At first, she’d tried to banish the messages from her mind, but now she found herself looking at Jodie’s Facebook profile every day. It had become an addiction that she couldn’t seem to break. Yesterday, Jodie had posted a new album with the description: Christmas Day 2019. Love my family!! xxx
Layla began to scroll through the photos. Jodie’s kids had inherited her good looks, with the same dark hair and high cheekbones. She followed the tags to their profiles and plunged down the rabbit hole.
The eldest, Claire, shared her mother’s lack of concern for online security. She was married, pregnant, living in Victor Harbor with her husband. It seemed like she spent a lot of time in the garden, having regular lunches with her mother, shopping for baby clothes, and catching up for girls’ nights with her old school friends, who were already starting families of their own.
What was it about people who stayed in country towns settling down and having kids so early? Was it boredom? Lack of better options? A kind of Stockholm syndrome, where they believed it was safer to stay than to experience something different? The idea suffocated her. She would’ve been out of Glasswater Bay at the first available opportunity, even without everything else.
She returned to Jodie’s post and clicked on her son’s profile.
Bradley was more security conscious than his sister and kept his account locked down, but Layla was able to view his profile photos as he’d changed them over the years. He’d joined Facebook when he was fifteen, and she watched as teenage acne and braces gave way to a chiselled face and sensuous lips. His most recent photo included a young blonde woman with a bright Instagram-worthy smile. His location was listed as Adelaide. At least one of them had got out.
The Girl She Was Page 6