by Trish Morey
After Deirdre had gone, it was quiet in the store, the perfect time to think about what Sarah was going to do about Jules’s unexpected request, and get something productive done at the same time. That’s why she was bum up, head down wiping out the bottom of the big fridge while she mulled over whether she even wanted to see Jules, let alone talk to her, when the bell over the door tinkled. Sarah sighed. That’d be right.
‘Be with you in a minute,’ she called over her shoulder. ‘Yell out if you’re in a rush.’
‘No rush,’ said a deep voice. ‘Take your time.’
And if she wasn’t wrong, whoever was talking wasn’t wandering around looking for something, but standing at the counter with a perfect view of her arse. Marvellous.
She tried to get up too fast and hit her head on a shelf. ‘Bloody hell,’ she said, rubbing her head as she stood and found herself face to face with a policeman, the same one she’d seen the day she’d arrived. He was smiling widely and she had a pretty good idea why.
‘Sorry about that,’ she said, peeling off her gloves and wiping her hands on a towel.
‘Are you okay?’ he asked, still flashing that amazing smile.
‘Let’s just say my ego’s been in better shape. Now, what can I help you with?’
‘I heard Dot had got someone in the shop to help out,’ he said. ‘I just wanted to come by and introduce myself. Senior Sergeant Noah Lomu.’
‘Wow,’ she said. ‘I recognise that name. Any relation to Jonah Lomu?’
He laughed, a rich sound that curled warmly in the air. ‘I wish. My football skills are rock bottom and he would have no doubt disowned me if we were related. It’s why I had to find a real job.’ He paused. ‘And you are?’
‘Oh god, sorry. Sarah Thorpe. I’m Dot and Sam’s daughter.’ She held out her hand and when he took it in his, she realised the warmth didn’t end at his laughter. Almost reluctantly she let go, and he put his hand on the counter. A big hand. Big arm for that matter.
‘So you’re a rugby tragic then?’
‘Not me. My husband—well, he’s gone now. He was a big fan.’ God, she was babbling. She took a deep breath. ‘Anyway, that’s neither here nor there. Dad said you’re only here temporarily.’
Noah’s tilted head and raised eyebrow asked the question.
‘Oh, Dad was filling me in. We passed you coming from the airport.’
‘I remember,’ he said. ‘I saw you too.’
‘You did?’
‘I try not to miss too much.’ He gave a wry grin. ‘Kind of goes with the territory.’
She smiled, wishing she looked more respectable and not like she’d just been dragged out of the bottom of the fridge. ‘Fair enough.’
‘How’s Dot getting along then?’
‘It’s fair to say she’s a bit impatient with it all. She’s not a fan of the physio.’
‘Well, who is, when you’re forced to do it?’ He pushed himself back from the counter and rubbed his hands together before he gave her that dynamite smile again. ‘You’ll pass on my regards to your parents?’
‘I certainly will. Thanks for dropping by, Senior Sergeant—’
‘Nope.’ He shook his head. ‘Noah, please. I’ll see you round, Sarah.’
Sarah bade him goodbye and went back to her cleaning, grateful for the interruption but still no closer to working out what to do about Jules’s request. She got down on her hands and knees and cleaned and scrubbed and removed sticky bits that had been stuck to the shelves for who knew how long while her mind wrestled with the problem.
She knew what her father thought: that accepting Jules’s invitation to talk wasn’t a sign of weakness. That it wasn’t letting her off the hook. But why should she listen to anything the woman said? What difference could it make? None. None at all.
In the almost five years since her world had been turned upside down, Sarah had done her best to raise the drawbridge and protect what was left of her shattered emotions. That had been possible—manageable—while she’d lived in Sydney, throwing herself into her work and striving to pretend that the soul-destroying events of the past had happened on a distant galaxy, rather than an island a mere two hours off the coast. But now she was back on Lord Howe, it was impossible to keep that drawbridge up, impossible to keep the pain at bay. The memories were too raw here. They merged to crash over her like the ocean waves against the coral reef that fringed the lagoon. They boomed inside her skull.
And all she knew was that things could have been so very different.
She sniffed at the truth in that, remembering the exhilaration of discovering she was pregnant. She’d known from the minute she and Richard had signed up for IVF that it was going to work. She’d always succeeded at anything she’d tried her hand at, she always won everything she’d ever put her mind to, so why should this be any different? She and Richard would be one of the success stories whose photos lined the clinic walls, who inspired other infertile couples to try. People would read their story and know that it would work for them too.
After the first failed attempt, Sarah had tried to be practical. It didn’t always work the first time. She understood that. She was good with numbers and IVF was a percentages game. She knew thirty-two per cent of women in their thirties succeeded through IVF, as opposed to thirteen per cent of women in their forties—so she was on the right side of the percentages. She was sure she’d be one of those thirty-two per cent.
She also knew it took an average of three treatment cycles to get a baby. Which meant some people would undergo only one, others more than three. She understood that. It was an average after all, though she’d been better than average all her life. It wouldn’t take long.
She also knew she wasn’t the type of person to be crushed by one setback. So it hadn’t happened this time—but it would happen.
After five failed attempts, on the wrong side of average, Sarah was a mess, her weight had ballooned from endless injections and hormones and her skin and hair looked like shit, but she knew that their story would be all the more inspiring for having to go the extra distance. Persistence. Never giving up. Never losing sight of your goals. And everyone would be all the more thrilled for her and Richard, because they knew the rough road they’d travelled.
And then, on their sixth attempt, the stars lined up, and the magic happened.
She remembered the words so clearly, she remembered the joy of the doctor, who’d called to give her the happy news herself, because she knew what it meant. She remembered the joy, the excitement, the sheer exhilaration of the high, that after a string of keenly anticipated but ultimately fruitless attempts, after all the heartache and despair, finally success.
She was pregnant.
With child.
In a few months she’d meet their baby and hold it in her arms.
And for a blissful few days, a few precious weeks, things were perfect. Her body had done all the right things. Her sense of smell rebelled at the aromas of freshly ground coffee and meat cooking, and she’d delighted at its rebellion. Her breasts had grown more tender, as had the relationship between her and Richard. It had shifted, a load taken off. Richard took her out for dinner and to the Opera House for a Vivaldi concert. He treated her like she was the most precious thing in the world, and then, just to top it off, he’d wanted to make love to her. Not because it was the right time of the month or the right temperature or the right damned moon, but because he’d wanted to.
Even morning sickness hadn’t prevented it from being the most wondrous few weeks of her life, made all the more special because it had taken them so long to get to this place, and finally—finally—their long-held dreams were about to come true.
Ten weeks came and went, one-quarter the way through, and Sarah was feeling on top of the world. Until she’d woken in agony to find her sheets wet, stained with the lifeblood of her pregnancy, together with her hopes and dreams for this child.
In hospital, while Richard had held her hands as she’d cried her he
art out, she’d blubbered, ‘We can try again. We were so close this time, so close. We can try again.’
‘Shh,’ he’d said. ‘You need to rest and get well. Let’s talk about that later.’ And he’d squeezed her hand, even as he hadn’t quite met her eyes.
They’d been booked to fly to Lord Howe Island four days later, ostensibly to perform the audit of the Island Trust, but the timing had been perfect: they’d wanted to share the news of their pregnancy. To celebrate success, rather than to receive commiserations for a change.
But Sarah pulled out of the trip. She wasn’t well enough or strong enough to face her mother and her well-meaning and not-so-well-meaning platitudes. Not face to face. She’d had enough of them over the phone.
‘Never mind, dear, you never really seemed the motherly kind.’
‘Best to forget all about it. After all, a baby would just get in the way of your career.’
‘These things only ever happen for a reason.’
‘There, there, it’s all for the best.’
And then the kicker: ‘But I don’t know what’s wrong with you. Nobody else in the family has had any trouble having children. I never did …’
No. Sarah had known she couldn’t handle it. She was too emotionally fragile to withstand her mother’s half-baked wisdoms, well-meaning or otherwise. And she was too emotionally raw to see Floss and her brood, and see how easy it was for some. How unfair it was.
So she’d cancelled her flights. And when Richard had asked if it was still okay that he went, she’d told him she would be fine, that it would give him a much needed break, although she was worried about his accommodation plans.
‘Are you okay staying at Jules’s, though? I know you two don’t get on.’
‘Hey, I’m a big boy,’ he’d assured her. ‘I can handle a cantankerous woman as easily as the next guy.’
‘In that case, you might as well stay with Dot.’
He’d pulled a face and said, ‘I said I was a big boy. I didn’t say I had superpowers.’
And she’d laughed, for the first time in what had seemed ages. ‘Seriously,’ she’d told him, ‘you could always stay somewhere else. Floss might be able to put you up.’
‘I’m not afraid of Jules,’ he’d said.
And she’d kissed him goodbye, and said, ‘Atta boy.’ And she’d sent him straight into the arms of another woman.
The woman who was asking to meet up with her now.
And why? Nothing could change what had happened and no words could make up for it. Whatever motivated Jules to reach out now was hardly Sarah’s problem. So why should she do Jules any favours? What was the point?
It wasn’t like they could ever be friends again.
Sarah pulled her head out of the fridge and rocked back on her knees, puffing a little. She nodded as she surveyed the results of her efforts. Stainless steel gleamed, glass sparkled. Tomorrow she’d rearrange the shelves. But for now, as she put away her cleaning gear and washed her hands, she wished it was as easy to remove the stains and blemishes from her own life.
21
Floss put the phone down. Matt Caruso had asked her to make a booking for dinner that night but the restaurant had a generator problem and had to cancel, so they’d recommended a couple of places where they were directing their guests.
Floss followed the palm-lined path towards Matt’s unit to ask what he’d prefer. It was after four, and she had no idea if he’d even be around. But there he was, sitting on his veranda, tapping away on his keyboard.
‘Hey,’ he said, raising his hand as she approached.
‘Hi yourself,’ she said, feeling ridiculously pleased at his welcoming smile. ‘I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news on the dinner front. Echoes has generator problems and has had to cancel tonight, so we’ll have to find you another place to eat.’
His hands abandoned his keyboard as he sat back, his forearms resting on the chair’s armrests. He blew out through his teeth. ‘That’s too bad. I’d heard good things about Echoes, too.’
‘All is not lost. They gave me a couple of suggestions.’
He picked up his bottle of wine. ‘In that case, can I offer you a glass of white while you run through the options?’
Floss hesitated. There was no reason why she shouldn’t say yes. Floss wasn’t planning on driving anywhere. In any case, a glass of wine was neither here nor there.
He cocked an eyebrow. ‘I hear it’s not good to drink alone, and you did say maybe next time.’
Yes, she had. She also remembered the reason why. Because this man looked at her in a way that made her feel like she actually mattered.
‘Seriously,’ he said, ‘it would help flesh out my article a bit. To have the human touch. A local’s touch. I mean, not just about what it’s like to be a visitor, but what it’s like to actually call Lord Howe Island home.’
‘An interview, then,’ she said.
‘That’s it,’ he said. ‘I’d love to interview you. If you’ve time, that is.’
There was nobody around to ask her questions, directions or advice, and nobody who needed her attention. Annie would be home by now to see to Mikey—god, what would she do without that girl to help with her brothers and Mikey in particular—so she didn’t have to be anywhere in particular … and it was kind of nice to have a man interested in her for a change, even if it was only for an article he was writing.
‘Sure,’ she said, climbing the steps. ‘Why not?’
And he smiled again and asked her to sit down while he went to fetch her a glass.
She sat on the veranda and enjoyed the view of the palms and flowering hibiscus trees as her guests were used to seeing them, noticing the rustle of the leaves in the breeze. The promise of rain hung in the air. There would be showers later in the afternoon, but for now it was mild and pleasant and it was nice to sit down.
In a flash Matt was back and pouring her a wine, then he lifted his to clink glasses. ‘Cheers.’
‘Cheers.’ She took a sip. Very nice wine, not too sweet, not too dry. ‘Wow,’ she said, ‘that’s like the Goldilocks version of wine. The just-right version.’
‘It’s good, isn’t it?’ he said, raising his glass to examine it in the light. ‘I found it at the store.’
‘Which one?’ Floss didn’t drink a lot, but she wouldn’t mind getting hold of a couple of bottles to put away for special occasions.
‘Oh, the one just up from the museum.’ He frowned. ‘Short name—’
‘Dot’s?’
‘That’s the one.’ He put his glass down and turned his gaze on her, holding it for a beat too long, and Floss got the impression that, like the wine a moment before, he was examining her. She crossed her legs and tucked her hair behind her ears, wondering again just what he saw.
‘It’s good to catch up with you for five minutes,’ he said. ‘I see you darting around everywhere, so it’s nice to pin you down for once.’
She shrugged, trying not to read too much into his comment. ‘When you’re in the hospitality business, there’s always something that needs doing.’
‘And you’re the chief cook and bottle washer.’
She smiled at the ancient expression, something she’d expect her father’s generation to come out with. Maybe his father’s too? ‘Something like that,’ she said, and took another sip of her drink. The wine was warming her from the inside, coiling into her senses, and she could feel herself relaxing. So nice.
‘We’d better get started on that interview before this wine goes to my head,’ she said, only half joking.
He nodded. ‘So tell me, how long have you lived here, Floss?’
‘My whole life,’ she told him. ‘I was born here, same as my mum, and her mum before her.’
‘Wow,’ he said, ‘you’re so lucky to live in such a special place.’
‘Yeah,’ she said, unable to prevent a sigh, ‘that’s what people tell us all the time.’
He angled his head. ‘You sound like you don’t believe it.�
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‘No, it’s not that. It’s just—limited, I guess. You can’t go too far in any direction without falling off the edge. And it’s beautiful and special and visiting Lord Howe is on just about everyone’s bucket list, I get that, but sometimes it would be nice to be somewhere else for a change.’
He chuckled, the deep notes of the sound combining with the wine to send ripples of warmth through her veins. ‘The grass is always greener, eh?’
‘Yeah, maybe that’s it,’ she said. Though it was much more than the grass being greener elsewhere. Because the ocean that separated this island from the world and made it so special to visitors, was the same ocean that held her captive and prevented her from just getting in a car and driving somewhere different. Anywhere different. ‘What’s it like where you come from?’
‘I live in Melbourne now, but I grew up on a dairy farm outside Tatura, cow country not far from Shepparton. I don’t think you’d want to change places with either of those, at least, not permanently.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because the city is crowded and busy and smells like there’s a bazillion people shoved into a shoebox.’
She smiled. She’d been to Melbourne for a school trip once and it had been crowded and the city air full of fumes, but it had also been exciting to kids that came from an island with less than four hundred permanent residents. ‘And Tatura?’
‘Is flat and dry and smells like there’s a bazillion cows shoved under your doormat. Although in all fairness, that’s probably because Dad was always wiping his muddy boots on it.’
She laughed. ‘Okay, so maybe I’ll cross Tatura off the bucket list.’
‘Hey, don’t get me wrong,’ he said, refilling her glass before she could say yea or nay. ‘There’s a lot going for the place too.’
Floss smiled. Normally she would have said no to a second glass, but it was such a rare treat to be sitting and chatting over a glass of wine that she wasn’t about to argue. Especially with a good-looking man who knew how to hold a conversation. She was enjoying herself for the first time in what seemed forever and she felt ten years younger in the process. Better still, she’d stopped wondering what he thought of her. He made her feel good about herself, and that was enough.