The Three Miss Allens, page 25
A mystery? She knew part of what he’d said was true. She had created a mask to hide behind. You’re always smiling, someone had told her once, an acquaintance of not very long standing. You’re always so happy. She was clearly good at the pretending. If only people knew what was behind that mask. Things much too hard to ever say out loud to anyone. Secrets she worked over in the middle of the night, when she tangled herself in the sheets and kept herself awake. There were things she’d never told anyone, least of all Tom. Because those deep, dark secrets were the truth about her life. A life unfulfilled and empty. They were about her failures as a daughter, as a person, a woman and a wife. If she’d been so unhappy, why had she stayed with Tom for so long? Why had she put herself through that intense misery? And she’d wanted to scream at him sometimes, too. Why don’t you leave? What are we doing to each other?
Yes, she was a mystery. Even to herself. ‘Listen, Connor. Things have happened in my life …’ She trailed off, unsure of how the story would feel if she told it out loud.
He leaned forward, rested a hand on hers. It was warm and reassuring, which she hadn’t expected. ‘I’m sorry to hear that. I really am.’ He waited a moment before asking, ‘Is that why you came to Remarkable Bay? Were you looking for a fresh start or something?’
Roma took a deep breath and then a sip of wine to calm the racing of her heart. ‘Something like that.’
‘If you want to talk about it, I’m a good listener, you know.’
Connor waited while she considered what else to say, if anything. And when Roma didn’t elaborate or explain, he took another piece of lemon slice from the container and bit into it.
‘I get the fresh start thing. That’s what I did when Angas’s mother and I divorced ten years ago. Shit. I’ve just realised that. Ten years ago last month.’ He settled back into his chair, holding his glass of wine on his denim-clad thigh and looking at her. He was serious now, looking a little like he was about to mount a prosecution for the defence in court.
‘Okay, this is me,’ he started. ‘I’m a small-town lawyer with no ambition to do anything else and I love my kid to bits, which you might have guessed already.’
‘That’s obvious. And nice,’ she said quietly. The breeze picked up to a gust and rustled the leaves in the fruit trees, which sounded like faint applause from a distant open-air concert. She could smell the lemony tang of her slice and the salt in the air from the beach not far away. And she was aware of his presence, of being with him, talking intimately like this about things that were real and important.
‘My parents drive me nuts but that’s normal,’ he continued. ‘My two brothers are idiots and I’m an idiot when I’m with them. I’ve never smoked and I like to surf. Even when it’s eight degrees out there and the wind whips up straight from Antarctica. I drink, as you can see.’
‘Nothing wrong with that,’ Roma added, raising her glass.
‘I don’t reckon there is. I tell myself I’m supporting the local wine industry.’ Connor laughed and sipped his wine. ‘I’ve been around the block a time or two. Most people at my age have. I’ve been sad as hell and there are times when I’ve drunk a little too much, but no more or no less than any divorced father who wonders what the hell’s going to happen to his kid in the carve-up of a marriage. But I got over it. I bounced back. I’ve had a couple of relationships since the divorce, nothing serious though. One woman couldn’t stand Angas and the other one tried too hard and Angas ended up hating her, so that was never going to work.’
Connor studied her face and Roma knew he was trying to find a reaction in her eyes to his openness, his honesty. His case. He was mounting a case for himself, giving her the facts about him so she could judge him. He was wanting her to decide if he was someone she wanted to spend more time with. She still didn’t know. She still wasn’t sure. Her courage and her fear tussled with each other.
‘You bounced back,’ she said. ‘That’s admirable.’
‘That’s all you can do, right? Especially with a kid. You put them first and wait until they’ve grown a bit and you keep in the back of your mind that one day, when you’re ready, the right person might move in to the house next door to you.’
Connor reached for her hand, his palm upwards, his big hand waiting for her.
She didn’t move.
‘Roma,’ he said low and quiet. ‘Put your hand in mine.’
She waited. Considered.
‘Come on. See how it fits.’
And she held her breath and waited until she’d run out of excuses not to do what he asked. She put her hand in the warmth of his grasp and his big hand slowly closed around hers. Something inside her shifted. The wind got louder in her ears, or perhaps that was her heartbeat.
Her hand fit just right in his.
‘You make me laugh, Roma,’ he said. ‘And you’re beautiful.’ He leaned across the arm of his chair, his body closer to her now, and tugged her hand just a little so she moved closer, too. ‘But none of that would have mattered if that lemon slice had been mediocre.’
She laughed nervously. ‘There’s something about your lemons.’
‘There’s something about you.’
She held his hand tighter, fought the fear of saying it out loud. He’d said she was brave. Was she?
Roma took a shuddering breath. ‘I was married for a long time but my husband died three years ago in a car accident. We had a dog called Charlie who slept on my bed every night for two years until he died, too. One day I realised I couldn’t do that life anymore so I sold up and came down here to Remarkable Bay to find myself another one.’
Connor’s eyes were soft as he pulled her hand to him. He pressed his lips to the back of her hand. And then they sat in the fading evening light, hand in hand, not saying another word for a long time.
CHAPTER
23
Addy didn’t know why she’d laboured over what to wear. Within five minutes of arriving at Blake’s shop, they walked through a back door to his house, and without a word having been spoken, she was naked and lying flat on her back on her bed with Blake between her legs. It was exactly what she’d wanted. A man, an orgasm and diversion. She gasped and gripped the sheets as she came.
God, it felt good. It took her out of her head, made her feel like someone else. She’d been around actors long enough to have picked up some tips about pretending, although she’d had a pretty good handle on it before then. But she didn’t need to pretend how good it felt.
One hot minute. That’s all it had taken to get from the space where they should have been saying hello to this. When they’d walked through to his house, Blake had pushed her up against the living room wall and looked at her before kissing her hard and fast and so hot she wanted to fuck him right there on the shag pile rug. No words. Not even her name. He knew somehow that she didn’t need it. She wanted sex, not romance. A fuck, not a future, and she’d picked well.
They made it to his bed and stripped each other, fast. He’d urged her back on the sheets and she went willingly, thrillingly, marvelling at how fast it was happening, how little she’d had to explain. And then he’d used his tongue and his mouth on her and she’d squeezed her eyes shut to savour her orgasm, its ripples and quakes and, a minute after hearing the ripping of a condom wrapper, she felt him lower himself on top of her. Instinctively she spread her legs and cradled him into her.
When Addy looked at his bedside clock, it was ten past nine.
Blake was on top of her, all around her, breathing hard, waiting until his heartbeat slowed. It took a moment before he propped himself up on his elbows and looked at her. He took in her mouth, her cheeks, the curve of her jaw, her nose. And when he slowly came closer and kissed her, his lips were soft. It was so unexpected and tender that she froze.
She only wanted sex. She pushed her hands against his chest.
‘What?’ he said, his voice gruff.
‘I need to get up.’
He didn’t argue or protest but rolled off her. Addy sat up and her feet hit the floor. She felt his hand on her back, warm and strong and calm. She closed her eyes, thinking about how his hands had felt when they were roaming her body, exploring her, pleasuring her.
‘Where you going?’ he asked, his voice croaky, his fingers tracing a sensual trail on her hip.
‘I’m going home.’ In a jolt, her fight with Roma was back in her head, every line of dialogue crisp and clear, as if she were listening to it through headphones in an editing booth. The place she was living wasn’t her home. It was Roma’s. Once again in her life, she’d been an interloper in Roma’s life. She took in a deep breath to stop herself from crying about Roma’s accusations, and the sudden realisation that was making her chest constrict. She’d done it again. She used sex to distract, to dissemble, to remind herself that her body was desirable, that she was wanted by men. That she had some worth.
And what had she done? She’d shat in her own nest. She was so far from having a home now it was laughable and, judging by their fight, she guessed she might not be welcome at Bayview one minute longer.
Blake was gazing at her as if her hesitation meant she was changing her mind about wanting to stay. She hadn’t changed her mind. She was now more adamant than ever.
‘I’m going,’ she said dryly as she walked to the door. She found her maxi dress on the floor and slipped it over her head. She should go. She needed to go. With one last look at Blake, she found herself unable to move. How could he look so relaxed when she felt as jittery as an Oscar nominee on awards night? Half his body was covered with blankets, but his chest was bare and his feet were hanging over the end of the mattress, his toes pointing to the ceiling. He hadn’t moved, but was watching her glowering at him, a sly grin on his lips.
‘Tell me something, Addy.’ He drawled her name slow and sexy. ‘By the way, is that short for something?’
‘Yes.’
‘What?’
‘Adelaide.’
‘You’re kidding.’
‘No.’ If he ever met her mother he would understand. She pulled herself up. What the hell was she talking about? He was never going to meet her mother. She hadn’t dared introduce any of the men who had been in her life to her parents, together or apart. If they’d spent one minute in Dr McNamara’s company they might imagine Addy was just like her and run. ‘I’ve really got to go,’ she repeated.
Blake narrowed his eyes at her. ‘You a vegetarian?’
‘That was your question? You want to know if I’m a vegetarian?’
Addy was used to unusual questions in the production office. What time does the sun come up? Can you make sure there are no clouds tomorrow? Can you find me a hotel room with good feng shui? I will only eat coconut paleo balls while I’m acting. And only with organic coconut. I will not have any pretty extras on set. Will you get rid of that blonde one with the legs immediately?
‘Yep.’
‘No,’ she answered, flummoxed into answering. ‘I’m not.’
‘Good.’
‘Why is that good?’
‘Because I’m cooking you dinner tomorrow night.’
‘No, you’re not.’
‘Yes, I am. You do eat, right?’ He looked her up and down, and she didn’t like the scrutiny.
‘Look, Blake. You don’t have to bullshit me and I’m not into playing games. I’m a big girl and this was just a fuck. You got lucky. Get over yourself.’
He grinned, still so effortlessly sexy that she wanted to slap his face.
‘And,’ she continued, ‘I’m not interested.’
‘In games or in bullshit?’
She noticed he hadn’t thrown himself into the mix. ‘You don’t need to cook me dinner or buy me wine or chocolates or flowers.’
He shrugged. ‘What time’s good for you?’
She rolled her eyes. ‘How about never?’
‘Seven o’clock.’
‘I said no.’
He got out of bed. Stretched. Addy shivered. She was around beautiful people all the time but there was something about this man, something that she’d felt during sex but couldn’t define. He walked to her, his beautiful surf-toned body moving slowly, each muscle doing its job in a perfect rhythm, but didn’t touch her. After what they’d just shared, not touching him was torture.
‘No,’ she repeated.
Blake reached for a strand of her hair and twirled it around his finger. She looked at his body, all flat planes and a shadow of chest hair, and then craned her neck to look into his eyes, to challenge him.
‘I’m. Cooking. You. Dinner.’ Each word was punctuated by a tender kiss. Her forehead. Her left cheek. Her right. Then her mouth. Addy didn’t want to like it or need it.
‘We don’t have to eat. This is just fucking, remember?’
He slid an arm around her waist, then he smoothed his other hand down her belly, along one thigh, inching up the fabric of her dress until he hit skin. Then he pressed his palm against her, and found her sweet spot with his long fingers.
‘Oh, damn,’ she moaned, her knees buckling. She was still tender and throbbing from the last time and so ready for another go round she was almost there.
‘You want this?’ he whispered against her cheek, his fingers moving slow, then faster, soft then hard.
‘Yes … yes.’ Addy lifted her arms around his neck and held on, letting him take all her weight.
‘Then come to dinner.’
She managed to say, ‘Okay, okay, you win.’
‘It’s not a fight, Addy,’ he whispered into her ear.
It always was for her. Always.
Roma and Connor had moved inside when the mosquitoes had begun to buzz around them like tiny invisible stealth bombers and they’d opened another bottle of wine. Angas had remained sequestered away, gaming in his room, although he’d emerged for food at one point, during which Connor had roused on him for not saying hello and he’d reluctantly waved as he’d carried packets of cheese crackers back to his room. Connor had warned him off what remained of the lemon slice and if Angas cared that she was in his house, he didn’t show it.
They’d sat on the sofa and talked for hours, laughing gently at each other’s jokes, sharing and debating their passion (him) and loathing (her) for Scandinavian crime dramas.
‘All that snow!’ she’d laughed.
‘Great scripts!’ he’d answered. ‘And a female prime minister.’
When Roma finally checked her watch, it was midnight. They went to the kitchen and Connor returned her now-empty Tupperware container. Slowly, they ambled to the front door. Connor reached around her to open it, and she opened the screen door and moved out on to the veranda.
‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘I enjoyed tonight.’
Connor followed her to the front gate. ‘Me too.’
Then he was next to her. His arm bumped her shoulder as he took her hand. She let him.
‘Look at that sky.’
Above them, the Milky Way sparkled like a million Christmas lights strung from one end of the sky to the other.
‘It’s so beautiful,’ she sighed, squeezing his hand, her way of thanking Connor for getting her to look upwards and outwards.
She wanted to kiss him, knew he wanted to kiss her, but she let go of his hand. She couldn’t take that step yet. When Roma was on the footpath, she turned back to him, smiled.
‘I’ll wait,’ he said, his expression serious now, his normally twinkling eyes sober despite the wine and the night and the stars.
‘Connor—’
‘I’ll wait.’
As Roma slipped into bed ten minutes later, she realised she wanted him to.
CHAPTER
24
1935
During the return journey to Remarkable Bay from the train station at Victor Harbor, Ruby tried not to feel like her heart was breaking. As the dry and barren landscape passed her by from the smudged windows of the taxi, she wished her final moments with Clara had been happier ones.
The train from Adelaide had chugged in to the station, causing much excitement. People had come to meet their family and friends and the all-important post which came on the train every day, and once the large crowd of new tourists had dispersed, there were only a few passengers left on the platform making the return journey to Adelaide. It was still the height of the summer season, after all, and there were still many more weeks of fresh sea breezes and sunny days to capture the attention of holiday-makers. Clara was going against the tide, it seemed.
They’d stood together on the platform, Clara clutching her suitcase in her hands, Ruby trying not to make a scene by crying.
‘You’ll write, of course,’ she said, trying for matter-of-fact.
‘Yes,’ Clara had nodded, her eyes swimming with unacknowledged tears.
‘Please send my best regards to Aunt Jane. Be sure to show her the Brontë, how well-thumbed the pages are. Tell her it’s my favourite book in the whole world.’
‘I will.’
When the conductor had called, ‘All aboard,’ Clara shrank back from Ruby. ‘Don’t cry, Ruby. People will see. They’ll talk.’
‘I won’t,’ Ruby managed. She had to be strong for them both. For the three of them: for Clara, for herself and for the baby. But the unanswered question still burned, the one Clara had shaken off earlier with a steely glare and a quivering bottom lip.
‘Are you sure you won’t tell me? Who … who …’ Ruby couldn’t say the word baby out loud in case anyone heard. ‘Who is responsible?’ she had whispered.
‘Don’t ever ask me again. And don’t hug me.’
‘Please, Clara. I’m allowed to say goodbye, surely?’
‘Don’t make a scene,’ Clara hissed, her voice a fierce whisper, and she turned and climbed the steps into the carriage.
Ruby squeezed her purse to her chest and willed herself not to cry. She walked down the platform, standing on her tiptoes to find Clara, and spotted her through a window. She called her name and waved frantically. The whistle sounded and the train began to move, huge clouds of white smoke billowing into the air, as if clouds had fallen from the sky and created their own storm right there on the platform, with Clara and Ruby at its epicentre.
