by Diana Fraser
She raised his hand to her lips and kissed it. “We’ll be home soon and then you can show me how you feel.”
David didn’t think it could get better than that and put his foot on the accelerator.
As parking was limited in front of the cottages, David parked around the corner, close to where Gabe’s doctor’s surgery was.
Amber closed the door and glanced towards the surgery, where the lights were on. “Looks like Gabe and Maddy are home.”
David slammed the car door, locked it and put his arm around Amber, hoping like hell she wouldn’t suggest a visit. To his intense relief, she didn’t. Instead, she rested her head against his chest and they walked down the hill.
Before them, the coast road ran along the beach front. The sky above the hills on the far side of the harbor was still shot with colors of the sunset. David didn’t think he could remember seeing anything more beautiful. By contrast, the sea was dark and limpid, barely moving in the still evening. But it would be, he knew. The tide would be shifting under the perfectly calm surface. Nothing was ever as it seemed. He knew that. He also knew that the woman by his side was too trusting to know that. And it made what he’d done all the harder to think about. But he’d make it right. He’d already begun the process.
Without the car to herald their arrival, they managed to gain access to her house without alerting the neighbors. Amber only just managed to smother a giggle before she quietly inserted the key and they entered the house. She flicked on a light, then looked at him. “That’s a sign to my lovely neighbors that I’m home. They insisted. They reckon they can’t settle until they see the light.”
“What if you’re at Belendroit?”
“Then they can still see my light at Belendroit from over here. See?” She said, pointing to the distant promontory along the shoreline, its lanterns shining.
“But the lanterns are always on.”
“Not that end one. It’s dark now, and I always light it when I’m there. My neighbors know that, Gabe knows that. Everyone who knows me knows that.” She turned to him. “And you know that now, too.”
He put his arms around her and shook his head. “Everyone looks out for you.”
“I know. It’s nice, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” It was, but it still seemed strange to him.
He was about to kiss her, but she moved away and pulled the curtains a little. She looked at him with a shy smile. “There, a little privacy. Would you like a drink?”
There was only one thing he wanted, but he sensed she was feeling uncertain.
“Sure. A coffee would be great.”
“I only have decaf, is that all right?”
He groaned inwardly. Of course she would. “Fine, thanks.”
She grinned. “You and that ‘fine’ word. You know, I’m going to work on you, make you say something crazy and out there like ‘great’, or ‘fantastic’!”
“And that’s fine with me,” he said with a grin. “My mind is going a bit crazy imagining what you might do to bring this great feat about.”
Her smile faded a little. “I don’t know myself,” she said.
He sighed and looked away. It was all he could do to stop himself from following her like a little puppy dog, anxious for her petting, her affections. He pushed his fingers through his hair, suddenly annoyed with himself to be brought to such a low. What the hell was he doing?
“Milk?”
He turned with a smile. One look at her, standing, with strands of the plastic ribbons cascading over her shoulders and through her hair, and he knew. He was here because of her, and happy with whatever she could give him, because there was nothing else he could do. His feet wouldn’t move away from her even if he wanted them to. And, right now, that was the last thing on his mind.
“Please.” He took his coffee black, he suddenly remembered, as he watched her pour milk—was that soy milk?—into his coffee.
He went and sat on the cracked leather bucket seat covered with a crocheted throw. He fingered the felted bright blue of the throw and thought to himself that Amber was the only person he knew with a handmade crocheted throw. Not only possessing a piece, but covering an armchair with one. He suddenly had a flash of memory where his grandmother had been crocheting in a corner of their sitting room, beckoning to him as his parents rowed. He’d followed her into the kitchen where she’d closed the door, sat him down and made him a mug of hot chocolate. Was that his attraction to Amber? A feeling of relief from the stresses of life? A throwback to his grandmother?
But then Amber entered the room, lighting it up with her bright eyes and smile in a way that his beloved grandmother never had. No. His grandmother had been a practical, no-nonsense woman who’d instilled in him the values by which he’d lived his life. But she’d also been loving, and he’d felt safe with her. Grounded. And Amber certainly made him feel grounded—in touch with things around him. Connected. He groped for the word. Amber had reached into his heart, grabbed it and brought him back to life, connecting him with people and feelings and life. There was no going back now.
“Thank you,” he said, accepting the dubious-looking cup of coffee. He hadn’t heard the purr or chug of a coffee machine coming from the kitchen, only the bubble of an old pot on the stove. He took a sip and was surprised at how nice it tasted. “Tastes good.”
She took a seat beside him, tucking her legs under her. “Don’t sound so surprised,” she teased. “Just because I haven’t got a thousand dollar machine. I found the old Italian condenser in a charity shop. It makes the best coffee.”
He had to agree. He also wished she’d sit a bit closer. “It’s good.”
“Hm,” she said, putting her half-finished cup onto the table. “This is nice, to use your favorite word. Being here with you.”
“Yeah, it is.”
“I bet it’s a bit different to your usual Saturday night.”
He shifted in his seat to face her, stretching out one hand along the back of the settee, and touched her hair, wrapping a curl around his finger. “And what do you imagine I usually do on a Saturday night?”
She shrugged. “Something super glamorous. Schmoozing with the rich and famous while women like Katherine laugh at whatever you say. The rooms would be decorated with expensive wallpaper covered with flowers and birds and bright colors. And light would be sparkling from chandeliers and the cut glass wine glasses and everything would be bright and lovely.”
He thought of the modern industrial settings and apartments which were his usual haunts. “That’s a pretty detailed picture you have there. But I have to correct you, I can’t recall bright colors or light sparkling anywhere. In fact, most of my friends prefer a minimalist approach.”
“Pop always accuses me of having too much imagination for my own good.”
He was silent. In some ways she might, but in others she didn’t have enough. “And what about you?” he asked, determined to move the subject away from him which, given the circumstances, he found extremely uncomfortable. “What do you usually do on a Saturday?”
“Well, that depends. Sometimes I want to be here and potter about. Other times I hang out with my family at Belendroit. Then again, Gabe and Maddy go to the local pub a lot, so I join them. Then there’s Rachel and Zane who live on Maori land. They have a huge whanau and I’m always welcome there. Then there’s Flo at the backpackers. She’s my best friend and…”
David had never considered he had a wide circle of friends, but he’d been content with those he had. But listening to Amber continue to talk about the people she hung out with made him feel like a Nigel No Friends. Eventually she finished talking.
“That’s a lot of people.” A lot of people who would disapprove of him. David wondered if there was any room in Amber’s life for him. He also suddenly wondered if he was simply one of many. “Amber,” he said quietly, moving his fingers from her hair to her cheek. He watched as he swept the back of his hand gently across her soft skin, before scooping back her hair and rub
bing the back of her neck. Her eyes flickered with pleasure.
“Yes,” she murmured from beneath closed eyes.
“Do you think there’s room in your life for one very ‘nice’ man, who’s pretty hopeless at showing his feelings?”
She opened her eyes and nodded. “Yes, I do.”
He inhaled, leaned forward and searched her eyes, trying to figure out what he’d done to deserve this wonderful woman. “Good.” He pressed his lips to hers. She sighed and shifted closer to him until he could easily put his arms around her, hold her face between his hands, as their lips moved sensuously over each other’s. It was Amber who opened her mouth wider and touched the tip of his tongue with hers, triggering a lightning reflex inside of him.
One minute they were seated upright, the next somehow they were lying side by side, their bodies up close to each other’s, seemingly not able to get enough of each other’s kiss. When they eventually parted, Amber moaned and shifted her hips closer to his, brushing her lips against his. David didn’t think he’d ever been so turned on. His fingers toyed with her strap. All it would take would be a slight flick to remove the straps from her top. It didn’t look as if she was wearing a bra. And then his imagination ran wild as he imagined Amber, naked, in his arms. He shifted a strap and her hand went to his, holding it in place.
“I don’t usually do this, you know,” she said, in a still aroused voice. She cleared her throat. “I mean, I’m sure you think I’m pretty open about everything and I am about most things…” She trailed off.
“Just not about inviting men back to your house.”
“Yes. I don’t do that.”
“Not ever?”
“Not since… that time. Everything changed after that.”
“Ah, right.” His imagination managed after a brief struggle to rein itself in again. “I don’t want to do anything you don’t want to do. You know that, don’t you?”
She nodded. “Yes, I trust you.”
He swallowed a flicker of unease. She could trust him now. Maybe not initially, but he’d made changes since then. “Good.”
She went to kiss him again but the phone burst into song. She kissed him, laughing at the inappropriate tune, rolled off the settee, and picked up the phone.
It gave David a few minutes to take command of his body and sit up and knock back the remainder of his cold coffee, grimacing as he did so. But he needed something to take the edge off his arousal. As he stood up and walked around the small room, he noticed Amber become increasingly quieter on the phone. It was a short call and when she finished, she didn’t turn around immediately. He came up behind her and leaned against the kitchen wall, flicking one of the colorful strands of plastic out of his face.
“Is everything okay?”
She turned around and gave a quick, uncertain smile, but her eyes looked devastated.
“What on earth is the matter, Amber?”
She blinked as if upset, but didn’t answer.
“Who was that on the phone?”
“The exhibition organizer. She wanted to brief me on how the exhibition went.” His heart sank a little. She wouldn’t have, would she?
“And?”
She shrugged. “It went well, I guess.”
He wished she’d look him in the eyes. He inclined his head to her, trying to see her expression, but her bowed head was in shadow.
He extended his finger and gently put it under her chin, lifting it so he could see her face. He almost wished he hadn’t, because that wasn’t the face of someone joyful—it was the face of someone who was hurt, and hurt by him.
She licked her lips to speak, but he knew what was coming. “And it went well because you arranged for most of the people to come.”
He shrugged. “Well, I may have put out the word, but that’s networking. That’s just what you do.”
“But they came for you, not for me.”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes, David, it does, especially when there was only one buyer of all my work. You.”
He bit his lip as her eyes filled with tears. She gulped as she tried to hold them back. “You meant well, I know that. And it was… lovely, I guess. But I’d just hoped, you know, that more than one person had bought the pieces. That the pieces had been wanted for themselves, not because someone liked me enough to make a generous gesture.”
“I’m sorry, Amber. I didn’t mean…”
“You didn’t mean me to find out, I’m sure.”
“I bought them because I loved them. And I got in quick, if I hadn’t have bought them so soon, others would have come in and snapped them up, I’m sure.”
“Are you? Because I’m not.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been so quick off the mark. I simply wanted this to go well for you.”
“You’re a nice man, David, and I appreciate it. I guess I’m just a bit disappointed with myself, with my work.” She moved away, and looked at a piece, frowning. “I’ll just have to try harder. Maybe you should leave now.”
David nodded, his heart caught at the moment he realized that, instead of bolstering her confidence, he’d done the opposite. He’d made her not believe in herself.
“I’m so sorry, Amber. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“I know. It’s just that I’d rather be alone now. I feel a bit down.”
“Right.” He nodded with a sigh. “Right.” He picked up his phone and car keys, and opened the door. They exchanged ‘good nights’ politely, as if the kisses of only moments before hadn’t happened.
And, as he walked back towards his car, under a sky from which all the colors of sunset had now faded, leaving only a blackness which seeped into his soul, he thought that he didn’t know how the hell he’d ever make her believe in herself again. But he knew he wouldn’t stop until he’d accomplished exactly that.
7
Sunday was Amber’s day off from the café, which was just as well as the mood which had descended on her last night hadn’t lifted. She lay on her bed, pillows all around, gazing up at the mobiles which Aimee had made from shells found in Lantern Bay last time she visited. Trouble was, whenever she opened the window, a few more grains of sand found their way out from the spiral shells as they moved in the breeze.
But this morning her mind, for once, wasn’t on the here and now, but on David. She felt foolish. She was used to her siblings treating her with affectionate dismissal, but not someone like David. She felt a connection with him, totally unlike any she had with past boyfriends. Rightly, or wrongly, she’d felt that somehow he’d seen through the superficial hippy exterior and seen her, the real her. The one that didn’t need looking after, the one that was strong and independent and happy with her life. But it seemed she was wrong. By buying up all her artwork, he’d treated her just as one of her siblings would. Step in and take over to make sure Amber was happy.
She grunted with frustration, tossed off the bedclothes and put her feet on one of the many rag rugs which covered the bare floorboards which she’d painted pink. She liked pink. She looked up at the ceiling, and she liked purple. What was wrong with that? Why didn’t anyone respect her, or take her seriously?
Grumpily she went and showered and dressed in one of her more outrageous outfits. She refused to let people influence her. And that was where she was strong, whether they knew it or not. If they underestimated her, that wasn’t her problem, it was theirs.
Amber found Flo in the large garden, which was Flo’s pride and joy. Flo was a real homemaker, and Amber appreciated the spirituality of it. She just wished she had Flo’s practical sense.
“Flo!” Amber waved to her friend, who waved back and came towards her, peeling off her gardening gloves and dropping them onto the old table under the verandah she used for potting paraphernalia.
“Amber!” said Flo, giving her a big hug. “What are you doing here? I thought you’d got too busy to catch up with your old friends!” Flo grinned, but Amber didn’t.
“Don’t say tha
t! I’m not like that, it’s just that I’ve been…”
“Preoccupied?” offered Flo. “I’m not getting at you. It’s been fun to see you get immersed with the Hot Green Eyes guy. How’s that going, anyway?”
Unwanted tears sprang to Amber’s eyes. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
Flo touched Amber’s arm. “It’s okay, we won’t then. How about a cuppa?” She glanced at her watch. “Even better, how about a glass of wine? It looks like you could do with one.”
“Oh,” moaned Amber, her brows knitting as she tried to control her emotions, but didn’t succeed. “I’d love a cup of tea.”
While Flo went and filled the kettle over the Belfast sink, chipped from decades of hard usage, catering first to Flo’s grandparents, then her parents, Amber slipped off her shoes and sat in the old-fashioned grandmother’s winged armchair, tucking her feet under her. Flo shot her a warm smile. Flo once said that Amber was the sister she’d never had. But it was more than just that which connected them. Flo had been with Amber every step of the way since Amber’s world had turned upside down five years earlier and knew far more than anyone else in her family about what had happened.
Flo plugged the kettle in, and leaning back against the sink, folded her arms. “It’s been good, you know, seeing you happy again.”
“I’m always happy!” said Amber, slightly scandalized that Flo could see through her.
“You’re mostly happy,” Flo corrected her. “But there’s always a shadow lurking in your spirit. You’ve never been quite the same since—”
Amber held up her hand. “We vowed to never speak of it again.”
“You vowed, I didn’t,” said Flo, pushing herself off the sink and opening a jar of home-made chocolate chip cookies. She shook some onto a plate and set it on the scrubbed pine table which dominated the old kitchen. She hooked a foot around a chair and dragged it noisily to the table and pushed the plate across the table. “Like a cookie?”