One Summer Between Friends

by Trish Morey

  Even the shower of rain as she stepped outside couldn’t put a dampener on her mood, not until cab after cab crawled by, ignoring her attempts to hail one. Of course there’d be no cabs, she realised, it was raining. But god, the traffic. She’d forgotten about congestion and traffic fumes.

  When the next cab crawled by without stopping, she thought, Damn it, I have my umbrella, I’ll walk, and test out just how long it would take to walk to work.

  Halfway home, her shoes were rubbing and her feet were killing her. She’d have to wear sneakers if she got the job and wanted to walk to work.

  She let herself in and kicked off her shoes to examine her ankles. Blisters. Big ones. No wonder her feet hurt so much. She headed for the kitchen. She’d spied a bottle of wine in the fridge and she was sure Kylie wouldn’t mind if she helped herself to a glass. Then she flopped into an armchair to call Noah and rub her poor feet.

  ‘I miss you,’ Noah said, picking up on the first ring, his deep voice making Sarah forget all about her aching feet.

  ‘I’ve only been gone one night.’

  ‘Feels like longer.’

  ‘Greedy,’ she said.

  ‘You bet. How did you go today?’

  Sarah told him about her amazing day with one unexpected partnership offer and potentially a second job offer to come.

  ‘Wow. What are you thinking?’

  ‘I don’t know. Once upon a time a partnership with FRL was my dream. But now they’ve finally offered it to me, I don’t know that I want it. I’ll see what happens with this other job.’

  ‘Maybe you should turn them both down and check out what’s on offer up here at the Port. I liked having you here.’

  The idea was not without appeal, even if she thought he was only half serious. It wasn’t as if she was tied to Sydney and there was direct access to Lord Howe, so she’d still be close if her parents needed her. ‘Maybe I should.’

  ‘You definitely should,’ he said. ‘We’re good together.’

  Whoa.

  He made her promise to call the next day to let him know she’d got safely back to the island, and said goodbye.

  We’re good together. She sat there a while considering what she’d thought had been a throwaway line about looking for a job in Port Macquarie. Now she didn’t think it had been throwaway at all.

  Theirs had started as a casual hook-up. She hadn’t thought it would last until he’d have to return home. But it had, and beyond then, too: a weekend with him at the Port; plans being made for when she returned to the mainland. Now he was suggesting she think about getting a job in the same city as him and she hadn’t summarily dismissed the notion. But then, when it all came down to it, she didn’t actually mind the idea. It would be nice to spend time with Noah on a more permanent basis. It wasn’t like she was bound to Sydney, and it would be nice to get away. She’d forgotten what a pain living in Sydney was with the traffic congestion and the fumes and so many damned people everywhere.

  She sipped her wine. Port Macquarie wouldn’t be such a bad spot to live. Anywhere that Noah lived would be just fine with her. Because he’d suddenly become very important to her too.

  She sat up quickly as her heart tripped a couple of beats. Oh, boy. Talk about unexpected. Here she was, a grown woman, and she was feeling like she was falling head over heels for her crush.

  She held the glass to suddenly heated cheeks and smiled. How about that? She’d gone and fallen in love with Noah.

  Half an hour later, she was deep in her wardrobe, sifting through her clothes. She pulled out a couple of linen shirts that would do in the store and a light zip-up jacket that would be perfect when out walking or riding her bike. But so much of her stuff looked wrong for the island. It looked too … North Shore, designed to be shown off with chunky beads and clanking bangles in some swanky café overlooking the harbour. Sarah couldn’t remember when she’d last bothered with jewellery.

  She stood back to better scan the contents of her wardrobe. That’s when the box on the shelf above caught her eye.

  That box.

  Oh, hell. Surely that still wasn’t there? Surely she’d ditched that before now?

  She looked away. Tried to concentrate on the job at hand, sorting her wardrobe, choosing things that would better suit the warming climate for the remaining weeks she’d be on the island.

  But the box kept bringing her back. Until, her heart thumping, she could look nowhere else. The bloody thing wasn’t going to go away. She had a good mind to toss it in the bin. In fact, she would. She growled, and went off to find the stepladder.

  Then she was back, climbing the steps and pulling the box from its resting spot on the shelf. A shower of fine dust fell from the top as it tilted. Okay, so it had been a while, but that only made her even more annoyed she’d left it that long. Annoyed and grumpy, she spat out dust. This box was going straight to the bin.

  She stepped off the ladder and turned, dislodging the lid in the process. She reached down to pick it up, and that’s when she saw them, the tiny pink and blue onesies she’d bought when she’d discovered she was pregnant; one in each colour, hedging her bets. The tiny onesies that had never been worn.

  Her hand moved of its own volition, pulling one out. So soft.

  Size 0000.

  So tiny.

  She sat on the bed, put the box next to her and held the suit up with both hands. Across the front was embroidered Worth the Wait.

  She squeezed her eyes shut, bowing her head and hugging the suit to her chest. It would have been. It would have all been worthwhile.

  Eventually, she took a deep breath and opened her eyes. She hadn’t cried. How about that?

  She laid the suits on the bed, pink and blue, side by side. Found the baby bonnet with the frilly edge and matching cardigan and bootees her mother had crocheted the minute she’d heard she was going to be a grandmother at last. She rifled through the box. There were other memories she’d kept for whatever reason. Maybe just because she couldn’t bear to part with them. A dummy she’d found in a baby store that said Daddy’s Little Princess. A bib saying Nom nom that had made her smile. Even a syringe, a reminder of the thousands they’d used to coax her ovaries into coughing up a few precious eggs. God, what the hell had she been thinking, keeping that?

  And there, in her hand, an envelope. It was addressed To Baby.

  Don’t go there, said a tiny voice in the back of her head. What’s the point, when you’re going to chuck all this stuff anyway?

  But no, her fingers were already working at the flap, removing the folded page. Just the one.

  To my unborn child,

  Your daddy and I waited a long time for this miracle and the happiest day in our lives was the day we learned you were coming. I want you to know that no matter how you were conceived, you were brought into this world through love, probably a lot more love than many others.

  And we both want you to know that you are, to us, our most wanted and cherished baby.

  Thank you for coming into this world and making our lives complete. We can’t wait to meet and cuddle you in person.

  We love you.

  Mummy and Daddy.

  Sarah blinked as she blew out a long breath. God, the rubbish she’d kept!

  She gathered up the things on the bed to put back in the box, putting aside the bootees and the hat; Dot might want to give them to Deirdre for Tammy’s baby. But it really was time to ditch the rest. Then she pulled out the bib and the dummy for good measure.

  Except there was something else in the box. Another envelope.

  Her heart squeezed tight.

  No.

  But she couldn’t stop herself. She picked it up and turned it over. Jules’s handwriting stared back at her.

  Her heart thumping, her mouth dry, Sarah turned the envelope over, breaking the seal. She opened the pages and another folded page fell out onto her lap. She ignored it, already captured by Jules’s Dear Sarah.

  She read the letter, written all those
years before. The letter she had never been able to bring herself to open before now.

  I’m so sorry this letter is needed. I’m so sorry for the agony and hurt and the betrayal that I know you are feeling.

  ‘Huh,’ Sarah snorted. Sorry. Everyone was sorry. It didn’t help any. It didn’t change anything.

  It was grief sex, Jules wrote. It was wrong and a mistake and it should never have happened, but it did. It was one time only and nobody would ever have known. Until I discovered I was pregnant.

  It was never an affair. He came to the island to be with Della.

  I don’t expect you to believe me, but it’s the truth, and you deserve to know.

  I’m sorry, Sarah. For everything. Truly sorry that I have lost you and, I fear, lost you forever.

  Your friend,

  Jules.

  The hand holding Jules’s letter dropped to her lap. Grief sex. One time only? Who was Jules trying to kid? Richard moved there. He’d left Sarah. He’d lived with Jules. Her friend, nothing.

  None of it made sense. It was Jules who’d told her not to marry him. It was Jules who’d told her that Richard wasn’t good enough for her. Ironic that it was Jules who’d slept with him in that case, and proved her theory true.

  Sarah sniffed. She’d never been able to work out why Jules had said that.

  She picked up the other paper, expecting it to be spouting similar garbage from Richard. Making excuses. Saying sorry. A thousand times sorry.

  Bingo!

  Because sure enough, there it was, right at the top of the page.

  I’m sorry I have to write this down. I tried, you know I’ve tried, but I just can’t talk to you anymore.

  Hang on.

  I couldn’t live with you any longer. I didn’t recognise you. I didn’t know who you were anymore. And I know you didn’t see me.

  What?

  You know I was over the moon when we got news you were pregnant. I thought we’d done it. I thought things might go back to normal, like they’d once been before all the hopeless and ultimately futile heartbreak of IVF. But they didn’t go back to normal.

  For a long time, I’d felt like I was a walk-on extra in your life. The way you changed after you became pregnant confirmed it. You were a stranger in our bed, and I knew then that I’d lost you.

  I know it’s been rough on you. I know you were shattered. But don’t blame Jules. She doesn’t deserve it. She wouldn’t have kept the baby but for my insistence. She knew what it would cost her. She knew that in keeping Della, she would be sacrificing your friendship.

  I’m the one you should hate. I’m the coward. I saw a way out of an endless cycle of misery, and I took it.

  I’m sorry, Sarah. I love you—at least I did before IVF derailed what we once had. I don’t know what I feel right now except an overwhelming sense of sadness about what happened to our marriage. I know it’s selfish of me, and I’m not proud of myself, but I just can’t be with you anymore.

  Shell-shocked, Sarah slid from the bed, landing with a thump on the polished timber floor.

  He couldn’t talk to her? But he’d been so happy when she’d become pregnant. She’d thought things had gone back to normal. He was so thoughtful and romantic. He’d taken her to the Opera House, to a concert and dinner, and everything had been wonderful. Just like old times.

  And then, when they’d got home, he’d kissed her so tenderly, his hands on her body, her changing breasts and over the sweep of her belly beneath which lay their baby. He’d wanted to make love to her.

  And she’d said no.

  ‘The baby,’ she’d said, laughing as she’d pushed him away. ‘We mustn’t do anything that might harm the baby.’

  She could still see the hurt in his eyes, hear his argument that it was safe, but she was insistent and she knew he would understand eventually. That it was worth it, just to be sure.

  You were a stranger in our bed. Okay, so maybe she’d been a bit careful, but that still didn’t excuse him jumping straight into bed with someone else.

  Grief sex. How did that work? What was that if not just a pathetic excuse? Sarah clutched the letter to her chest. So many questions without answers. Maybe it was time she found some.

  51

  Jules was casting off a pair of sleeves on the veranda with Pru, while Della zipped around the furniture in her kiddie car. Jules sighed as she knotted off the final stitches and snipped off the wool. Now all she had to do was stitch all the pieces together and she’d have another jumper finished—and then she could start on the next one. ‘I must have been crazy to take this on. I’m never going to get all these jumpers finished.’

  Pru looked over from her magazine. ‘You need to find someone who can help.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Jules had been thinking the same thing. ‘But who?’

  ‘What about me?’

  ‘You?’

  ‘Why not? Like you said, your grandma used to knit, so it can’t be that hard. I might be a bit slow to begin with, but I’m sure I’ll pick it up. Besides, it’ll give me something to do. I’ve been feeling a bit bored lately. There’s only so many banana cream pies one can make.’

  ‘If you’re sure,’ Jules said. ‘That’d be great.’

  ‘Of course I’m sure,’ Pru said, putting her magazine aside. ‘Now, show me what you want me to do. If you haven’t got any spare needles, maybe I could start stitching those pieces together so you can get a head start on the next one.’

  Half an hour later, Jules was ribbing the next back, Pru busy with a darning needle when Della said from her kiddie car, ‘Mummy, it’s that lady again.’

  Jules looked up, her smile ready, thinking it must be Floss.

  Except it wasn’t.

  Sarah walked up the driveway and stopped just short of the steps, her eyes like dark holes, her mouth twisted as though she’d been chewing on the inside of her cheek. And the only word Jules could think of to describe her was ‘tormented’.

  ‘We need to talk.’

  Jules slowly stood. ‘O-kay.’

  ‘Della,’ Pru said, ‘how about you and me go inside and make some scones?’

  ‘Scones!’ squealed Della. ‘Yippee!’ She clambered out of her car, all knees and elbows, and bolted inside.

  Jules threw her mum a look that said Thanks. Pru squeezed her arm and disappeared.

  ‘Come and sit down,’ Jules said, worried Sarah would fall down, she looked such a wreck.

  Sarah slowly ascended the steps, but she refused to sit. She stood by the railing clutching something in her hands. A letter.

  That letter.

  Jules looked from the envelope to her visitor’s face. ‘You told me you’d burned that.’

  ‘I know what I told you. I found it and I opened it. I read it. Every word.’

  Jules waited. If that were true, she had nothing else to say. Sarah looked like she was struggling to breathe, the muscles of her jaw painfully tight.

  ‘You told me not to marry him. Right up there on top of Mount Gower, on the very day he proposed to me, you told me he wasn’t good enough for me. Why did you do that? What did you know that I didn’t?’

  Jules shook her head, confused. This was history. Ancient history. She’d expected Sarah to launch straight into the letter.

  ‘What happened?’ Sarah pressed.

  ‘All right. It was at your twenty-first. Richard followed me into the kitchen when I went to get more vodka. Björn had just left the island without saying goodbye and Richard said that I must be shit at sex if I couldn’t keep a boyfriend. He pushed me into the corner and said he could do me a favour and show me what men like.’

  She heard Sarah’s shocked intake of air. ‘He was drunk!’

  ‘He wasn’t that drunk.’

  ‘We were all pissed that night, every last one of us. But he didn’t mean it. He was just trying to wind you up. Like he always was.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Jules said on a sigh. ‘I know that now.’

  ‘So why did you say what you did?’


  ‘Because I knew that once you married Richard, you’d be gone from us. You’d live in Sydney and you wouldn’t come back, and I hated him for doing that to us. So I blew up what he’d said and made it my solemn duty to warn you. Not that you listened.’

  Sarah looked down and rested her hands on the railing. ‘Jesus, Jules. Maybe I should have.’

  There was silence then, but for the swish and slap of palm leaves in the breeze. A kind of peace until Sarah’s head swung around.

  ‘So how did it happen?’ she said. ‘Tell me.’

  ‘God, Sarah, why torture yourself? Didn’t the letter explain?’

  ‘Damn you, I need to know.’

  Jules recoiled, but, ‘All right,’ she said. She cast her mind back to that night, aware that Sarah would want the unsanitised version, warts and all. ‘Richard had finished work for the day and I’d made dinner. It was only soup.’ She sniffed, thinking, trying to get the order right. ‘He was quiet. I knew he wasn’t himself because he hadn’t once taken a potshot at me or made some snarky comment. I’d never seen him like that. He seemed sad. Lost.’

  She dragged air into her lungs and walked to the railing near Sarah, but not close enough to touch, and looked out at the rainforest garden.

  ‘We were talking over dinner. About the baby. About his despair. And about you. He broke down, Sarah. I’ve never seen a man cry, not like that. Great heaving sobs that sounded more like they were coming from a wounded animal than a man, almost like they were torn from him. I didn’t know what to do. All I could think of was to try to console him. I put my arm around him and the next minute he was clinging to me, tears streaming down his face. He said he felt helpless. At the end of his tether. He said he couldn’t see a way out. And he said, he said—’ She was close to tears herself now, feeling the despair of that night somehow clinging to the air.

  ‘What did he say?’ Sarah’s voice was barely a whisper.

  She turned to her former friend. ‘He said he was tempted to end it all.’

  Sarah reached for the arm of the chair next to her, collapsing into it.