“Why are we still sitting here?” Archer asks. “Can we go inside?”
“Soon,” I say.
One thing I’ll never regret about my time with Kevin are the children. They were something we’d spoken about but hadn’t planned. And even though Kevin rarely showed his feelings, he’d been ecstatic when we welcomed Abigail into the world, and he’d doted quite heavily on her as she grew. I was the one who suggested a second child. With Abigail at school, I missed having a little person following me around all day and grew rather clucky. I’d always wanted two kids, but Kevin had concerns about our ability to provide for them. When he received a promotion at work, I practically begged for that second baby. It felt like he was giving me a wonderful gift when he finally agreed, and he was happy when Archer was born too. Just not the way he was with Abby. I put it down to a second-time dad thing. But I think it was more than that. I think he resented the time and attention having another baby took away from him. Because it was around that time he took up paintball and started spending weekends away at tournaments.
But now I’m thinking that there were no tournaments. And that the bruising on his body wasn’t from paint bullets. I think they were hickeys. I think that’s when he started cheating on me.
I feel so stupid now.
“Aunty Jo just pulled up,” Abigail points out, looking up from her phone. “Were we waiting for her? Is that why we kept sitting here?” Glancing her way, I notice a picture she’s taken of herself, a filter inserting dog ears into her brown hair and widening her blue eyes. She is growing up to be beautiful, so beautiful. It hurts my heart knowing that I have to cause her pain when I explain what Kevin has done. He’s such a fucking coward for leaving this to me.
“Yeah,” I say with a wan smile. “We were waiting for Jo.”
“Yay, Jo-jo,” Archer calls out, unclipping his seatbelt and jumping out of the car.
“You coming?” Abby asks, unclipping her own belt.
“In a minute,” I say, handing her the house keys. “You go inside with Jo while I put the car away and get our things.”
“You might want to open the garage door to make that happen,” she says. “Just a tip.” Then she hits the button and I have a momentary freak out when I wonder if Kevin’s car is still there. But there’s only vacant space. While I expected there’d be a time where he changed his mind and came to collect his things, something about knowing he was in the house without my knowledge sits uncomfortably in my gut. What did he take?
“Thanks, honey,” I whisper as she opens the door.
“Are you OK? You’re being kinda weird.”
“I’m absolutely fine. I’ll put the car in the garage and come right in.”
Abigail gets out slowly, giving me that look she gives when she knows I’m not giving her the whole story. It’s a look I’m very accustomed to, because Abigail always thinks I’m keeping things from her. She loves to remind me that she isn’t a child anymore and can handle grown-up things. But then she has a meltdown because the bottom of her hair is flicking in the wrong direction and she needs to wear it up instead of leaving it out like she wanted. Call me crazy, but I want to protect her from the big bad grown-up world as long as possible. For a few more moments anyway.
Knowing Kevin’s been here, I park the car then pull out my phone, powering it up for the first time in two weeks. I wait as the Apple symbol lights up the centre of the screen before a picture of the four of us in front of a campervan pops up on my lock screen.
I take a moment to look at us all. Kevin and I are sitting on a fold-out chair, holding up our drinks and smiling while Abigail and Archer pull faces behind us. It was taken a little over two years ago when everything seemed a little less strained, more innocent. Archer was a cheeky little six-year-old and Abby was only twelve. High school hadn’t turned her into a sarcastic beast then. And Kevin was still going through the motions of daily life, pretending he wanted to be a part of us.
Despite our troubles, he’d frequently told me that he loved me and praised me to anyone who’d listen, telling them I was the heart and soul of the family. While he didn’t often direct his praise at me, I thought he was happy with me.
Was he lying? Even then?
Staring at the photo, our faces suddenly disappear as notifications pop up. Texts from Jo asking where I am. Texts from my message service telling me I have unheard voicemails. Coles wants me to know their big catalogue sale is about to begin, and my dictionary wants me to know the word of the day. It’s ‘phatic’, if you’re interested. It means ‘denoting speech used to express or create an atmosphere of shared feelings, goodwill, or sociability rather than to impart information: phatic communion’.
The rest of my notifications continue to populate my screen. But not one of them is a message, a missed call, or a voicemail from Kevin. No phatic declarations telling me he was wrong, that he wants to come back to me and the kids. Nothing. Not even a ‘how are you? How are the kids?’ or an ‘I’m coming over to get my things.’ Fuck.
Bang, bang, bang. The window rattles from Jo’s rapping knuckles, scaring the crap out of me.
“Jo,” I yell as my phone slips from my fingers, drops between my knees and slides somewhere near the foot pedals. I lean forward trying to catch it, instead hitting my face against the steering wheel and setting off the horn. Hoooonk. I sit back and rub my face. “That was your fault." I scowl at my sister through the closed window. She’s laughing, her bleach-blonde hair bouncing at her shoulders, quivering along with her mirth.
Careful to avoid the steering wheel, I retrieve my phone from beneath the brake pedal and open the car door a little too quickly so Jo has to jump out of the way. Then I stand and place my hands on my hips. "Kevin’s been in the house.”
“I know,” she says, her eyes widening as she mirrors my hands-on-hips stance. "If you checked your phone occasionally, you'd know exactly what’s been going on since you left. I’ve been coming every day to keep an eye on things.”
“I’m sorry. I was with Nana. I needed to get away.”
“I know, I've been keeping tabs on you.”
“She’s been giving you updates?”
“Yeah, I call her every day. We talk about you all the time.”
“Is that why my ears keep burning?”
She laughs a little. “Take it as a compliment, sis. You’re obviously a very interesting person.”
“I doubt it.” I roll my eyes in response. “What’s been happening here that you needed to keep an eye on?”
“I brought wine,” Jo says. “You’ll want wine.”
“Oh my God. What did he do?” Now I’m really worried.
“Let’s just say you’ll be wanting to get drunk and burn anything he left behind once we’re through.”
“What? Tell me what he did?”
“Come inside, Darce. He’s a user. Always has been, always will be. He only ever wanted you for what you could give him. He was never going to play fair.”
I ball my fists at my side, the pitch of my voice rising. “Tell me.”
“I was really hoping to tell you this after we'd had a few glasses of wine—"
“Jo, please."
“OK.” She places her hands on either side of my shoulders and looks into my eyes. “Darcy…I think you’ve lost the house.”
TWELVE
DARCY
“Holy fucking hell.” I stare at the pile of paperwork covering my bed: multiple credit card statements, details of bank accounts I wasn’t aware of, and here’s the kicker: notices of default on our mortgage and the bank demanding repayment on loans taken out in my name. How did he even manage that?
“I wasn’t snooping,” Jo says. “Well, I was actually. But it was for a good cause. I had a feeling he was up to shit behind your back, and well, I found all this in a shoebox in the garage. I think he came looking for it too, because when I got here and his car was gone, he’d made a bit of a mess in there. I cleaned it up though. Cleaned up that cereal castle in you
r kitchen sink too.”
Covering my mouth at the same time as I grab for her hand, needing the moral support, I shake my head from side to side, disbelieving. “How could he do this?” I didn’t think we owned credit cards. We’d agreed that If we couldn’t afford to pay for something, we didn’t get it. The only exceptions to that rule were the mortgage and the cars. My car seems to be the only thing I still own, mind you. “How could he ruin us? How could I not notice he was ruining us?” I’m shaking. I feel sick. I can barely stand.
“He was your husband and you trusted him with the family finances. None of this is your fault, Darcy. Even I never saw this coming, and you know I never liked the guy.”
“But it is my fault,” I snap, grabbing a handful of the papers and holding them in my fist. “This is me being complacent.” I grab another handful and hold it between us. “This is me being too stupid to pay attention.”
“Darcy.” Jo looks at me, her eyes full of worry, laced with pity. “We’ll figure this out.”
“What’s to figure out? I’m broke, I’m useless, and I’m alone. Twenty years of my life, wasted.” I throw the papers in the air.
“Love is a bitch,” Jo says knowingly.
Archer pushes the door open at that exact moment, his eyes travelling upward while white paper dances side to side before landing on the floor and back on the bed. “Mummy?”
“Love is a beach,” Jo corrects quickly. “I mean, I love the beach. That’s what I said. No swearing here.”
“I know what the B word is, Jo-Jo.” Archer walks straight over to me and wraps his arms around my middle.
I wipe a hand over my face before holding him back. “What is it, sweetheart?” I smile, keeping my face and expression as calm as possible.
“Why are you throwing paper in here?”
“Because it’s fun.” Releasing him, I scoop some up in my hands and hold it out. “You want to give it a try?”
A little smirk curves his mouth as he shrugs. “Sure.”
I hand him the pile, and he crouches low before throwing them up, releasing them with a jump, his hands held above his head as they flutter back down like butterflies. “You’re right,” he says, crouching down to scoop them up again. “This is great.”
He throws them up again, squealing with delight as Abigail opens the door and frowns at what her mature fourteen-year-old-no-time-for-childish-games mind probably sees as crazy. (And maybe it is. I’m not the best judge of sanity at this point.) “You never said when Dad would be back,” she says, her eyes scanning the scene before her, taking in the papers and the mess.
“About that,” Jo says, grabbing for overdue notices when she looks my way and sees that I’m staring at Abby and smiling manically.
“What’s going on?” Abby’s eyes get all narrow and suspicious.
“Darcy?” Everyone is looking at me, expecting me to explain. “Want to tell them where their father is?” Jo hides the papers behind her back.
I can’t.
“Oh yeah.” I shake my head, waving a hand in the air as though everything is fine and my whole world isn’t imploding right now. “Your dad… He…um… he isn’t finished with his conference yet.” Jo’s shoulders slump as she shoots eyeball daggers at me. I try to shoot sympathy lasers from my eyeballs, but I don’t think she’s having it. I turn my attention to the children. “In fact, he’ll be gone until the new year. He wants us to go back to Nana’s to spend Christmas. She’s already planning a big party for it. You’re invited too,” I say to Jo. “And Mum.”
“Mum going to Nana’s for Christmas?” she scoffs. “That’s a laugh. Never gonna happen.”
“I’m not going either,” Abby snaps. “Tell Dad he has to come home.”
“Yaas queen!” Archer cheers, ignoring everyone else. “Christmas at the beach.” He waves his hand in the air like he’s praising the Lord.
One out of three ain’t so bad.
“No arguments, Abigail. You’ll finish up with school and then we’re heading back to Bayside.”
“What about what I want? I have a life, you know.” Abby’s pitch rises to a shriek with each word. She’s looking at me like I just set her favourite pair of shoes on fire then threw all of her make-up on top. She pulls out her phone and holds it like a weapon. “I’m calling Dad. This is crap.” Shit. I really didn’t think this part through.
“Abigail,” I call out as she stomps off, looking to my sister for help.
“Don’t look at me,” she says. “You’re the one telling all the porky pies.”
Tearing out of my bedroom, I chase after Abby, needing to stop her. What happens when she calls Kevin and he answers? What happens when he fills her in on his plans and breaks her heart too? Nope, nope, nope. He doesn’t get to do that, not this close to Christmas.
“Abigail.” I burst into her room.
“This is weird, Dad.” Crap. “I don’t understand why your conference is happening over Christmas.”
I rush for her, fully prepared to wrestle the phone from her hand when I hear, “Just call back, OK? We haven’t seen you in two weeks.” And I stop, straightening up so I don’t look like a mad woman as she hangs up and looks my way. “Voicemail. It didn’t even ring.” God, he’s an arse. I know I was trying to stop the conversation, but still, how can he do this to his daughter?
“Maybe they don’t have service where he is.” My heart is beating so hard right now and I’m not sure if I can keep this up, keep covering for him. I need to be honest here.
“How have you been talking to him?” She looks up at me with young, innocent eyes that trust. She trusts that her dad is busy with work and not off dipping his sausage in a new pot of sauce. Living.
Not that I can talk.
Ugh.
Sitting next to her on the bed, I place my arm around her shoulders and hug her to me, breathing in her familiar scent and remembering happy times while I destroy her concept of life as she knows it. God, I hate this. “We need to talk, honey.”
“About?”
“Your dad,” I say.
“What about him?”
“He’s um, he’s not at a conference.”
Her brow tightens and her eyes start shining. It’s like she knows what I’m about to say. “Where is he?”
A massive lump lodges in my throat, and it takes a bit for me to swallow it down to speak. “He left us. Moved out.”
Water creeps into her eyes. “Does that mean you’re getting a divorce?”
“Yes. I think so. I’m so sorry, honey.”
“Why?”
“Because your father…” I stop myself before I give the details, remembering how Leo had mentioned that his relationship with his son was strained because he took his mother’s side. I don’t want to be the wedge between my children and their dad. There may come a day very soon where he realises what a colossal arse he’s being and decides to pick up the phone and call them. I want them to be grateful when that happens, because kids need their dad too. “He just needs some time on his own for a while.”
“So, he’s coming back?”
I lift my hand and tuck her hair behind her ear, my fingers brushing her cheek. “I don’t think so, sweetie. But maybe he’ll come see you.”
She flinches away from my touch. “What do you mean you don’t think so? How could you let him leave? Did you even ask him to stay?”
“Of course, I did. I…” I shake my head. How do I explain this to her without making Kevin look like the enemy? I can’t tell her that I practically begged and it didn’t make a lick of difference. If I tell her he left us for another woman, it’ll crush her. So, what do I say? “He needs time on his own.” That’s the best I can come up with.
“Call him!” Tears stream down her face and I realise I’m crying too. “Call him and tell him to come back. Tell him I need him.”
“It’s OK,” I say, wrapping her in my arms and stroking her hair like I did when she was little. She shakes against me. I hate Kevin for doing this. It w
ould be so easy to throw him under the bus right now, but that’s not who I am. And I think that makes me hate him even more.
“Please, Mummy.”
How do I say no to that? “I’ll call him, honey.” Not that I think he’ll pick up. But… “It’ll be OK. I’ll call him.”
THIRTEEN
LEO
“Tash.” There’s exasperation with a dash of warning in my tone.
“Leo,” she responds, her voice childish and condescending. Even over the phone, I can tell she’s pulling faces at me, rolling her eyes.
“I haven’t had Niall during the Christmas holidays for the last two years. The ocean air will do him good, get him out of that dungeon you created for him.”
“It’s a man cave.”
“It’s a room under your house that doesn’t get sunlight; it’s a dungeon.”
She scoffs. “I suppose you think he should be outside playing football or something. He’s seventeen, Leo. He has his own life now.”
“I know. But this is the last Christmas before he turns eighteen.” The last Christmas before the custody arrangement ends. If I can’t get through to him, he may choose to never see me again. I have to try. “Tash. Please.”
“I can’t make him want to spend time with you,” she retorts.
I press my lips together, fighting back a sigh as I press the fingers of my free hand against my closed eyes. “Can you at least ask him? Please.”
When Tash and I signed our divorce papers, I was still playing professional rugby. The time I spent on the road and my international travel schedule meant that the judge sided with her in our custody case. She got him full-time, and I got him every other weekend and every other holiday. It wasn’t enough. I reopened custody proceedings when I retired, but Tash is a decent actress, and she really likes taking my money, so the arrangement didn’t change much. Now I’m left begging for time and paying through the nose every time I want it.
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