Then why won’t he even look at my messages?
FORTY-NINE
DARCY
A media circus erupts the next morning when the video hits mainstream news outlets. Paparazzi and news vans are parked outside Leo’s apartment, which means they’re outside ours too. We can’t go out on the deck without being asked a torrent of questions about Leo and Tash. I just say, “No, thank you” and go back inside while Archer stands at the glass windows, his phone on its side as he records them.
“This is gonna be awesome for my YouTube channel,” he says, tickled pink.
Nana, Carla and Betsy sit at the table crocheting and Betsy uses a willy warmer covered-hand to wave at the cameras. Abigail is mortified and pulls our blinds to the floor, claiming it’s so she can watch TV in peace.
“I’m off to work,” I say at ten thirty. It’s one of those Saturdays when I have to work the lunch shift. When I went full-time, I bargained with management to give me alternating Saturday and Sunday shifts with one full weekend off a month. It was the best compromise I could come up with to make money and spend time with the kids. And I’m lucky that Nana is here to supervise when I can’t. The woman is surely a gift from God.
“Make sure you take the front door, dear. The vultures will get you if you leave via the deck.” Nana nods her head towards the closed blinds while Betsy complains about them ruining the view.
There’s chatter around town when I get to work too. Locals have noticed the news vans parked along Beach Road and they’re lamenting the disturbance to their “quiet enjoyment of a suburb we pay a high price to live in,” I hear one of them say.
The woman with her leans across the table, head nodding with enthusiastic agreement. “Although that footballer is moving soon. Saw the For Sale sign myself this morning. Can’t come a moment too soon if this is the kind of malarkey he brings around. Shameful these young people can’t manage their relationships properly. In my day, you got married and you stayed married. For better or worse we said. Far more worse than better if you ask me, but we still kept at it.”
Hating the reminder that Leo is leaving, I shoot my breath between my lips and thank my culinary skills for landing me in the kitchen. At least I won’t l have to listen to the gossips my entire shift.
“You’re late,” my boss, Karen says as she rolls a falafel salad wrap in cling film.
Dumping my bag, I grab my apron and tie it behind my back. “Damn press is taking up all the available parking. It’s a nightmare out there.”
“That’s right. That football guy lives in your building, doesn’t he?”
“He sure does,” I say, moving to the fridge and pulling out a stack of steaks and a tub of sour cream.
“You see him much? He’s a bit of a looker.” The dormant butterflies that live in my stomach burst to life as my mind forces a very specific montage of Leo smiling at me, looking with hungry eyes.
I have to close my eyes to calm my heart. I miss him so much. “Not as much as we used to,” I say. “His, um, place is for sale.” Just saying that out loud causes my butterflies to fall to the pit of my stomach and still. I can’t wrap my head around the fact he’s leaving.
“Just as well, I guess. He can take the media attention with him. Although, it will probably die down soon. I’m sure another soap star will embarrass themselves on film before you know it.” She smiles as she clears her work area then joins me in preparing the steaks. “I still can’t believe a sour cream marinade is the secret to these,” she says. “You can’t even taste it.”
“It’s the acid,” I say, brushing the sour cream over each steak. “Breaks down the protein.”
“I’m kicking myself for not booking a stall at that big fete the hospital is having tomorrow. We would have made a killing with your sandwiches.”
“It sounds like a really big deal. Nana and her friends have been working non-stop preparing for their stall.” Finishing with the last steak, I pop it in the container with the rest then cover it up.
“What are they selling?” she asks, taking the container to the fridge where it’ll stay for the next hour.
Turning on the tap, I pump two squirts of soap into my palm as I smile about Nana’s stall. “Some sort of crocheted pouch,” I say, being intentionally vague. They’re still planning to pretend they’re coin purses so they can act like innocent grannies when they’re called out on it. Archer’s filming the whole thing, of course. He’s calling it a ‘social experiment’.
“Oh, that’s sweet. I hope they do really well. Are you taking your kids there? It should be a fun day.”
“Well, Archer is going with Nana, but I think Abigail already has plans to go there with her friends.” I shrug.
“Wow. A day off work and no kids for the day, what will you do with yourself?”
“Oh, I don’t know, I’ll probably go to the fete too.”
“Or you take a long hot bath and relax. Take some time for yourself. You work too hard, Darcy. I should know, I’m your boss,” she says with a wink before collecting the tray of wraps and taking them to the display cabinet out front.
Relax. I go back to prepping ingredients for the lunch service. Who has time to relax anymore? I always think it’s such an easy thing to say to another person; relax. But it’s not as simple as sitting back in a hot bath and enjoying the quiet. With the quiet comes time to think. And with thinking comes remembering and longing, and I don’t want to feel that. So, I keep going instead.
WHEN THE CAFÉ quiets down in the afternoon, Karen takes the opportunity to go on break, leaving me to run things with one other staff member. We’re mostly making coffees and selling cakes and slices to the afternoon tea patrons. The noise level has dropped to a low murmur, and I can actually hear the radio as it plays hit songs from the nineties. I hum along to Lisa Loeb’s Stay as I bring some more milk from the cool room to put in the barista fridge.
“Hey.” A gentle rumble cuts out all other sound as it enters my ears and tugs gently on my heart. I stop what I’m doing and turn to the voice.
“Leo,” I say, standing so I’m a little closer to his eye level. He looks good enough to eat in jeans and a grey T-shirt that hugs his muscular chest, peeking through the open zip of his worn-looking leather jacket. He’s scruffy along his jawline, like he hasn’t shaved in a couple of days, the salt and pepper bristles revealing his age while making him look deathly sexy at the same time. There’s a pair of aviator sunglasses pushed back into his dark hair, their mirrored lenses probably chosen to help shield him from the cameras. Although, I’m surprised he risked leaving the apartment with the mob waiting on him.
“I hear you make a killer steak sandwich here,” he says, and when he lifts the corner of his mouth in an attempt at a smile, I notice how tired his eyes seem. He has the look of a man starved and hungry but unable to eat. I recognise it easily since I see it in the mirror every day.
Has anything changed? Are we pressing play again?
I remember his text messages before he told me he can’t do this then went silent on me. Discomfort twists in my belly and I lower my eyes before clearing my throat.
“It’s too late in the day for steak sandwiches.” I try to keep my voice even as I reach for an order pad. “But I did promise you the recipe once.” I scribble it down and tear the page off for him. “You can make it at home. Or in your new place. Whatever works for you.”
He takes the paper from between my fingers and looks at it, nodding slowly. “Tash is backing off,” he says, meeting my eyes. “She’s going to let me keep Niall here. Maybe you can thank Esme for the video for me? I assume it was her.”
“It was. But I think maybe you should thank her yourself. You were friends first, and you do live right next door. For now, anyway.” I keep flicking my gaze from him to the pen I still hold in my hand, struggling to have this conversation. There’s so much we should be saying, but we’re not saying any of it. We’re talking like nothing is happening but the worst thing possible is happening: we
’re letting go and I hate it. He said he can’t do this and he pushed me away. I close my eyes for a moment to bolster my emotions.
“I’m not staying in the apartment anymore. I have a new place closer to the city. Since Niall is moving in with me, it’ll be easier for him to get to school…”
My chest hurts. It’s tight and sore like the unspoken words are lodging themselves between my heart and my rib cage, squashing my lungs. “It must feel good to get what you’ve always wanted.”
He doesn’t respond at first, just locks eyes with me before giving me a tight-lipped smile. “How are your kids?”
“They’re fine. I got a lawyer and he found Kevin, so Abigail is hoping we’ll be able to create a communication agreement.” His eyebrows shoot up. “I don’t know that it’ll work, but she’s happy something’s happening. Archer is the same. He asks about you a lot.”
He nods. “Tell him I said hi.”
“OK,” I whisper. I’m not going to cry. I’m not going to cry.
He takes a breath and steps back. Then he pauses, frowns and steps forward again.
“No. I’m not leaving like that,” he says in a rush. “I feel like we’ve made a real mess of this, Darce. I miss you like crazy, and I hate that you’re standing right in front of me but there’s this gulf of distance between us.” He gestures between us then reaches across the counter, plucking the pen from between my fingers. “We need to talk or…something.” He pulls the notepad closer then scrawls an address on a fresh page. “I don’t know what we’re supposed to do, but doing nothing feels like…” Knitting his brow, he shakes his head. “Will you meet me here?” He pushes the pad and pen across the counter. “Tonight. Please? We can talk, and”—he shrugs—“I don’t know. I just need to talk to you. Because I’m waiting, Darce. I’m still waiting. OK?”
Picking up the pad of paper, I hold it to my chest as I nod. “I’m still waiting too, Leo.”
“Yeah?” His eyes brighten as he lets out a relieved breath.
Smiling for what feels like the first time in months, I let out a charged breath. “Yes.”
“Tonight then?”
I nod as he grins and steps away. He looks so relieved that I almost laugh. I also nearly cry because I’d let myself believe he didn’t want me anymore. But he’s still waiting. He’s still waiting.
FIFTY
DARCY
“I need to talk to you,” I say to the kids when I’m home from work. We’ve had dinner and I brought home brownies for their dessert, so I feel they’re sufficiently sweetened up before I broach the subject of Leo.
“Again?” Abigail asks, her dessert spoon still in her hand. “There’s more?”
“What did Dad do this time?” Archer asks.
“This isn’t about your father. This is about me.”
Archer’s eyes go wide. “Are you dying?” he whispers.
“What? No. No one is dying. I want to talk to you both about Leo.”
Abigail places her spoon in her bowl. “What about him?”
“I think you should marry him,” Archer blurts, bouncing in his seat. Abigail turns and shushes him before turning her full attention to me.
“You want to date him?” she asks, her eyes wary.
“I do.” It’s time to be honest. “It won’t stop me from being here when you need me. You guys are both my number ones. But it will mean that I’m a lot happier because while I love being your mum, I’d also like to have someone who loves me.”
“We love you, Mummy,” Archer says with a smile, and I grin back.
“I know you do, buddy. But with Leo, it’s a different kind of love.”
“The kind that makes you glow,” he replies, wriggling his fingers next to his face as he says it.
“I suppose that’s one way to describe it.”
“That’s how I know you and Leo love each other. You glow when you’re together. And he makes you smile. And your eyes get all sparkly. You’re like the angel on the tree at Christmas.”
My cheeks heat as I lose my battle with a smile, because that is probably the most beautifully innocent way I’ve ever heard someone describe an obvious attraction.
“You love each other?” Abigail asks, her expression still guarded as she listens to Archer gush.
With an inhale, I nod. “I think we do. Yes.”
“Well, I vote yes,” Nana says as she walks down the hall with a bag of willy warmers. “Life is short, and you and Leo are perfect for each other. As someone who loves you, Darcy, I only want you to be happy. Leo makes you happy.” She places the bag on the floor against the wall and claps her hands together. “Oh, this makes me so happy.”
“I’m happy too,” Archer says, jumping out of his seat and doing a random little jig.
Nana dances around with him, singing ‘Love is in the air’, and I try not to smile too much, because Abigail hasn’t responded yet.
“Are you going to be OK with this?” I ask, focusing on her. I’ve done everything I can to do right by her, but I’m at the point where I need to make this decision for myself, to stand up and fight for what makes me happy. Because ultimately, it’s going to teach my kids that love—real love—is worth the fight. I know in my heart that once Abigail gets to know Leo properly, she’ll think he’s as great as Archer does. She just needs to give him a chance.
“Do I have a choice?” she asks, narrowing her eyes slightly as she watches Nana and Archer dance about. “It looks like I’m out voted.”
“Of course. This is a decision we need to make as a family, so I’d like a unanimous vote. But, first, I want to tell you what it’s like to find that one person who completes you in here,” I say, tapping my hand over my heart. “And once I’ve told you that, I want to tell you what it feels like when you’re apart from that person. When I’m done, then you can cast your vote.”
Nana and Archer stop dancing and turn their attention to the table as I begin, hedging my bets while hoping to God that I’ve raised a compassionate and caring daughter. Our little family’s happiness depends on it.
FIFTY-ONE
LEO
A light from the street hits the curtain and I’m immediately craning my neck to see if she’s here. We didn’t set a time. But it’s almost ten and I’m expecting her any moment. If she’s coming.
“Shit.” I get up and rake my hands through my hair, pacing back and forth when I realise it’s just some random car using my driveway to turn around.
“Relax, pops,” Niall says, clicking away at his Xbox controller in the study that connects to the living room. “She’ll be here.”
He seems so sure. But honestly, I’m not. That distance I was talking to her about in the café, I caused it by pushing Darcy away when everything blew up between Tash and me. I’ve been missing her so damn much that the idea of being in the same room as her, not being able to touch her, to bury myself inside her when my emotions were on edge…it was more than I could bear. I needed her beside me and it felt like a knife in my gut that I couldn’t have her.
It sounds like all I wanted to do was fuck her until I felt better, but that wasn’t the case at all. I wanted her. All of her. I wanted the comfort, the closeness, the connection. And I knew I couldn’t have that, so I pushed her away. And now I’m freaking out that my invitation to work this out wasn’t enough of an olive branch. I should have told her I love her. That might have made the difference, shown her what she means to me. Shit.
“Oh my God, Dad,” Niall says, putting his controller down and getting up. “Have a drink and calm down, you’re giving me anxiety.” He gets up and grabs a beer from the fridge, popping the cap, and handing it to me. “She’s maybe five minutes away.”
Wrapping my hand around the cool glass bottle, I frown before bringing it to my lips. “How do you know that?”
“Abby told me.” He sits on the couch opposite and pops the ring pull on a can of Pepsi Max.
“You two talk?”
“Yeah.” He shrugs. “We DM on insta. We ha
ve a decent streak going on Snapchat.”
My eyes pop at the mention of Snapchat. “You do what on Snapchat?”
“Streaks. You now, take a random picture and send it through. You get a score for keeping it going. We’re up to ninety-something days now. I have streaks with heaps of people.”
I frown, feeling really old all of a sudden because I don't know what the hell he’s talking about. “And the DMs?”
He looks at me like I’ve sprouted an extra head. “Direct message. Like texting, but no one uses regular texts anymore.”
The tension eases in the back of my head slightly. “So, there’s nothing…uh…racy about the stuff you send each other?”
Now his eyes bug out and he chokes a little on his Pepsi. “No,” he practically shouts. “She’s fourteen, Dad. A kid. Do you think I’m that stupid?”
“I…ah…I don’t…um, pretend to know what teenagers are doing with these apps these days.”
“It’s not that. Well, it is that. But only with girls our own age.”
“That’s a relief. I’m glad you’re being responsible.”
He chuckles a little. “Let’s call it that.”
I take a long pull of my beer and study his face. It’s uncanny how much he looks like me at the same age. Sometimes he holds his expression a certain way, and I see an old picture of myself mirrored right back at me. He’s smaller than me though, has a slimmer build that comes from Tash’s side. He’s more suited to AFL than rugby, not that Tash would ever let him do either. She’d claimed it was because she didn’t want me forcing my passions down the boy’s throat, but I always felt it was just her way of making sure I had as little in common with my own son as possible. I’ve often wondered if she hated the fact that he looks so much like me, or whether it gave her pleasure, seeing me in his face and knowing he gave her control over me. Jesus, who knows what goes on in that woman’s head? She was so intent on destroying me a couple of days ago but the moment that video surfaced, she did a complete one-eighty in an attempt to save face. To anyone else in Tash’s position, that video could ruin their career. But Tash has this magical ability to turn any and all attention to her advantage. I have no doubt she’ll go to the UK and become an even bigger name than she is now. She’s just going to have to do it without Niall. And definitely without me. I won’t be fodder for her attention-seeking schemes anymore.
Love is a Beach: a romantic comedy Page 32
