The Devil Inside, page 15
Just like she always had.
Why would she think that? She’d had loving parents. Parents who had doted on her—at times, perhaps a bit too much. She’d wanted for nothing, except more freedom to explore the world and her place in it.
So why would she think she felt the absence of her mother?
Why did that feel so true?
It wasn’t. Couldn’t be.
And yet, what she’d told Craig with a few too many vodkas under her belt rang in her mind. Phil was right about her not drinking vodka. She never drank vodka because it went to her head and for some reason, she was more likely to have a drunk blackout after drinking it than when she drank anything else. Which was weird in itself, wasn’t it? She’d never really thought about it before. Had thought that her aversion to vodka had something to do with the few times her parents had got drunk when she was younger.
A flash of memory came to her—of waking up in the middle of the night to voices. They’d sounded strange. She’d crawled to the top of the stairs and peeked down at them through the banisters. Mama was pouring Papa a glass of a clear liquid then poured one for herself—the bottle was almost empty. Their words were slurred and too soft for her to make out but then Mama lifted her glass and a photo alongside it. ‘Aleksandrii i Natanu. Pust’ oni zhivut v Milesse.’
‘Pust’ oni zhivut!’ her Papa said.
Then they drank, their faces so sombre, tears on Mama’s cheeks as she kissed her fingers and put it on the face of the woman in the photo.
Mel gasped as she came out of the memory. That woman in the photo—it was the woman she’d been drawing and painting. Who was she?
A strange feeling of need, of grief, welled in her chest just as it had all those years ago when she’d watched her parents grieving, even though she’d not known that’s what they were doing.
But she knew it now.
Just as she remembered now that she’d made some kind of noise and they’d looked up to see her. After that, everything went a little blurry.
She concentrated but couldn’t remember anything more than she already had.
The photo. Of the woman. She’d been sitting on the bed looking through photo albums when she’d had that flash of vision or memory in the hospital. She’d been looking at the same photo Mama had been holding.
Phil had said there were photo albums in those boxes he’d found. Were they the same photos albums the woman had been looking through? Maybe that was a stretch, but surely the photo Mama had kissed was there at least.
She stood up. She should go and look now except …
She sat on the couch, gasping, shaking. She couldn’t. She didn’t want to. Maybe later. Yes. Maybe later when she wasn’t feeling so overwhelmed.
Coward.
When she was able to stand again, she went upstairs, got herself a hot milk and a couple of painkillers—her head was truly thumping now—then went back to bed.
Just before she fell back to sleep, she heard a door close—the garage door below her. Perhaps Phil had gone out for a walk after his conversation with Craig. A bit strange he went out that door, but then, when she heard a bike start up in the distance, she realised it wasn’t so strange at all. There wasn’t a bike in the garage, but she had seen one next to the stables. She didn’t know he could ride a bike. Strange to be going for a ride now. Maybe he just needed to get away for a moment and not think of everything weighing him down. She didn’t blame him. Right now, she wished she could get away too.
She fell asleep with that thought in her mind.
Chapter 14
Melissa took a deep breath—hills and grass and something pungent that she was sure was the eucalypts covering the mountains rising just beyond the front gates of Storm Haven. God, she needed this, especially after the emotional turmoil of what she’d overheard last night and the confusion of the memory that had come to her afterwards. She was still wondering if she should tell anyone about what she’d remembered, but she didn’t want to think about that now. She just wanted to enjoy this.
Alan had been right. She did need to get outside. Even when she lived in New York she always liked to get out, walk to the park and breathe in the green.
She glanced sideways at Phil as he walked beside her. Her fingers tightened around the pram handle as he met her gaze and smiled. She smiled and then looked down at the baby lying in the pram. It still seemed a little unreal. She couldn’t believe she was pushing a pram. Who would have ever guessed this would be part of her future—she sure hadn’t.
The pram bumped over a dip in the path. Phil put his hand out to steady it, his fingers brushing against hers. Her fingers tingled at the touch, but before she could process that, he pulled his hand away.
He was very careful about touching her after their kiss.
Her heart clenched.
She cleared her throat. ‘So, this walled garden. We used to go there all the time?’
‘Yes. You used to love it. Called it the Secret Garden even though it isn’t a secret.’ His beautiful eyes met hers, his mouth cocking at one corner into an outrageously sexy smile.
She’d seen that smile before. Though not recently. No. It was …
He ran onto the stage. The sound from the crowd deafening, but she didn’t really notice. She only had eyes for him. This surprising man who’d come out of the blue. As he sat at his drums, he turned, his beautiful eyes meeting her gaze, and smiled. That smile. It made her hungry and full all at once. It turned her inside-out. How did he make her ordered life so topsy-turvy?
‘Mel? Are you okay?’
She blinked, confused for a moment as to where she was. She looked around, at the fields and the castle-like house and the barns and the mountains. She knew this place. She knew, she knew it.
‘Mel? Can you hear me?’
Heat radiated out from his hand as he touched her arm, spiking up to her shoulder, tingling in her fingers, settling through her body, something exciting, something new, something known—something so goddamned scary she could barely stop herself from running away, screaming. She had to swallow hard. Made herself smile. ‘I can hear you.’
‘Where did you go? You were there and then suddenly, you weren’t.’
‘I …’ Her fingers gripped the handle of the pram. Once, twice. She didn’t know what to say. That flash—had it been a memory? She didn’t know. How could she know?
‘Mel? Do you need to go back?’
She was breathing hard, as if she’d been running. Did she like to run? She did. She used to do it all the time. Perhaps she should start again. It had always cleared her head. ‘Do I have running shoes here?’
‘No.’ He looked bemused.
‘Don’t I run anymore?’
‘You do. Or did. Before the pregnancy did something to your pelvis and you found it uncomfortable, even from early on. You didn’t bring your runners because you didn’t see the point.’ He gestured to the pram. ‘You said that by the time you were able to run again, we wouldn’t be here anymore. Besides, there were horses and you were keen to get exercise riding again.’
‘You didn’t mind that I wanted to ride when I was pregnant?’
He snorted. ‘As if anything I said could ever stop you from doing something you wanted. You did agree to keep it to a walk though.’
She turned to stare at him. ‘I’m stubborn.’
‘Oh yeah.’
‘You don’t mind?’
He gave her a strange look. ‘Why would I? You’re passionate and determined. It’s one of the things I love about you.’
‘Oh.’ She rubbed her brow. Her head hurt a little. She glanced around. ‘I want to go and buy some runners. I’d like to start running again.’
‘Sure. I’ll take you in to Mansfield later today.’
‘You will?’
‘Of course.’
He smiled at her—a different smile this time, but no less engaging.
‘Hey, hon. Sorry to disturb your practice.’
He looked up from his drums as she walked into the room, putting his hand out to stop the reverb of the cymbal he’d just struck, his eyes lighting at the sight of her. ‘You can disturb my practice any time, baby.’
She stumbled. ‘Oh.’
He grabbed her arm again, steadying her. ‘Are you sure you’re okay?’
‘I’m okay.’ She pulled her arm from his touch—it was too much to feel all at once. ‘I wish people would stop asking me if I’m okay.’
He gave her a look but only said, ‘You look like you’ve got a headache.’
She rubbed her temple again. ‘I suppose my head is a little achy.’
‘Do you want to go back? Get some painkillers and have a lie down.’
‘No!’ The word rang in the air around them and the worried look on his face morphed into confusion. Arwen stirred and thankfully he turned his attention to the baby, taking the pram handle and jiggling it while making shushing noises. There was such love in his expression as he looked at their daughter. She cleared her throat again. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to shout. Let’s keep walking.’
‘If you’re sure?’
‘I’m sure.’
He took over pushing the pram and started walking down a path towards what she assumed was the walled garden. Silence fell over them. The call of a bird echoed over the fields. Cows lowed in a nearby field.
It was so peaceful. Then why did she feel so edgy? She’d been like this ever since overhearing him and Craig last night. She’d had such trouble going to sleep—not helped by the bike starting up. ‘Did you go for a ride last night?’ she asked abruptly.
‘What? No. I don’t ride. Why?’
‘I thought I heard the door downstairs close and a bike started up soon after.’
‘Really? I didn’t hear anything. Maybe it was one of the hands. A few of them ride bikes.’
‘But why would they have been inside?’
He shook his head. ‘They wouldn’t have been. Are you sure you heard them inside?’
She sucked her cheek and shook her head. ‘No. I just heard a door close. I assumed it was the one downstairs.’
‘It could have been one at the stables. Some of the hands occasionally stay over in the bunks there if they’ve got an early start.’
‘That must have been it. But the closing door did sound closer.’
‘We’ve all noticed sound carries strangely here. Something to do with the mountains.’
‘Yeah. Craig said.’ She rubbed her head. She’d been so certain. But it wasn’t the first thing she’d imagined. She was probably asleep and the phone call and the bike had been waking dreams. Yeah. That was more likely. And it didn’t make her sound so crazy.
She took in another deep breath, let it out slowly. ‘It’s so beautiful here.’ They turned right as the path forked at the corner of the wall. ‘The countryside. The mountains. It’s peaceful in that way that says, “I’m old but totally comfortable with it. And boy, do I have some stories for you.”’
He chuckled.
‘What?’
‘Saying that is so you.’ They’d reached a gate in the wall and he pushed it open. ‘Welcome to your Secret Garden.’
It was like being in a different world from the one they’d just left. Paths ambled away from them in multiple directions through beds of flowers, bushes and trees, many of which she didn’t think she’d ever seen before and yet, they were so familiar. There was a tinkling from somewhere in front of them. Birds tweeted and chirped all around.
As they walked down the path, a shriek of rising laughter sounded above them making her jump and grasp her chest. ‘What the hell is that?’
‘A kookaburra. They make quite the noise.’
‘You’re not wrong. It frightened the crap out of me.’ She looked down at the pram, worried the sound had disturbed Arwen, but the baby was sleeping soundly.
‘There’s a song about it. Lexi taught it to me the first time I heard one.’ He sang a little ditty about a kookaburra in a gum tree laughing. His singing voice was surprisingly full and deep given how lightly he spoke.
She stared at him as they walked along. So long that he noticed it. ‘What?’
‘Your accent. Sometimes you do a bit of a cockney thing, but most of the time you sound like Colin Firth when he played Mr Darcy.’
A flash of pink spread across his angular cheekbones. ‘You always loved him as Mr Darcy.’
‘Yeah. I do. Did.’ She shook her head. ‘But you didn’t answer my question.’
‘You didn’t ask one.’
She snorted out a chuckle. ‘Are you usually this reticent to talk about yourself?’ He’d talked about her and them as a couple, but never about himself. She wanted him to tell her something about himself. Didn’t just want to know him through overhearing private conversations like last night.
He shrugged.
‘That’s all I’m going to get?’ He shrugged again. ‘Was it this hard last time?’
He angled her a look. ‘Probably.’ He rubbed his hand over the back of his head, looking down at his feet kicking up puffs of gravel as they walked. ‘I don’t like talking about my past. You know that. At least, you did. You mostly didn’t bring it up.’
‘Right.’ She twisted her mouth. ‘That doesn’t sound like me.’
This time he laughed outright. ‘No. It doesn’t. You usually poke and prod until you get what you want.’
‘Now that sounds like me.’ She plucked a sprig of yellow fluffy stuff off a tree branch that hung over the path and held it up to her nose. ‘It doesn’t smell. I thought it would have a scent.’
‘No. That’s yellow wattle. The last for the season Bev says. It was starting to come out when we arrived here at the end of winter—you said it looked like sunshine even on the cloudiest grey day.’ His brow rose and his lips twitched. ‘You also said you wondered how soft and fluffy the yellow blossoms would feel on your naked skin. You made me promise to find a lonely field where you could strip and lie down while I covered you with them so you could find out.’
She twirled the blossom in her finger, chewing on her lip, unable to look up at him. ‘Did I?’
‘You’re surprised by that?’
She shrugged. ‘I loved being outdoors once upon a time. I used to love to run down to the waterhole near my family home and strip naked and splash around even in winter. The water was often really cold but that didn’t matter. I’d lie on the flat rocks there and let the sun in them warm me and dry in the air. But I haven’t done that for years. Haven’t thought about it for years.’ She sighed. ‘My life has become a city life. I thought I was happy with that.’
‘You weren’t. Not really. You told me you always longed for the open planes. The freedom of riding across them, chasing the horizon.’
‘Hell, I sound like an idiot.’
He stopped, grasped her hand gently, but enough that she stopped and looked back at him. ‘You missed your home. Your family. That’s not idiotic.’ He met her gaze, his own intense. ‘It made me wish I felt the same about—’ He shook his head.
‘The same about what?’ she prompted after he remained silent.
His frown deepened as he stared at the yellow wattle above their heads. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
He started to walk again, but she reached out, putting her hand over his on the pram handle. He stilled; long dark lashes lowered over his incredible honey-brown eyes as he stared at their hands.
She swallowed hard. ‘Tell me.’
He held still for so long, she thought he wasn’t going to answer. ‘You already know.’ His lashes rose and he met her gaze, his own penetrating, expecting, touching her deep inside, filling her with an aching warmth that seemed to be growing despite her best efforts to keep it distant, push it away.
‘I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking you.’ He didn’t answer, just stared at her. She sighed. ‘This isn’t going to go very well if you don’t start helping me to know you again.’
‘I’ve told you about me.’
She shook her head. ‘You talk about me. About things we did together, but not about you. I need you to tell me to help me know if the knowings and the small flashes I get every now and then are real or just my mind playing tricks because I want so badly to remember.’
‘You’ve been having flashes of memory?’
She lifted her hands, dropped them. ‘I don’t know. I won’t know unless you talk to me. Tell me more about who you are. Things you would have told me because I am your wife.’
His gaze roamed over her face. ‘I don’t want to overload you by forcing memories that don’t really matter.’
‘Crap.’
His gaze snapped back to hers. ‘I beg your pardon?’
She laughed. ‘There it is again. That proper Mr Darcy voice. Why do you have it? Why do you try to hide it? Why won’t you tell me?’ She knew she was pushing but hearing him talk about it with Craig last night wasn’t enough.
A range of emotions played over his face before he turned and began to push the pram down the path again.
She didn’t go with him, instead stood her ground, arms crossed.
He looked back over his shoulder, brow raised.
‘I’m not going anywhere until you tell me a little something about your past. I’ve shared some of mine. Fair’s fair.’
He snorted, a look of anguish crossing his features for a brief second before he said, ‘You’re still so much my Mel.’ He turned to walk again.
She watched him for a moment, mouth agape, then on a burst of pissed-off, ran around the front of the pram, putting her hands out to stop its forward momentum. ‘Talk.’
‘I can’t. Not here.’
‘Why not here? There’s nobody here. Nobody to hear.’
He made a sound of frustration. ‘I can’t talk. Not standing still. I have to move.’ He shifted from one foot to the other, edgy energy radiating off him. So different from the almost preternaturally calm man he’d been since she woke.
Something, she realised now, that wasn’t normal.
Phil pacing in a green room.
Phil jiggling his legs as they sat in a waiting room.
Phil tapping his feet as they sat at the dinner table talking.
Phil’s fingers tapping on the edge of the basin as he cleaned his teeth.
