by Nicola Marsh
She followed Louise into the room and closed the door.
Louise came out of the bathroom and blanched. ‘What the hell are you doing? Open that door right now.’
‘We need to talk—’
‘I’m not interested in anything you have to say.’ Louise crossed her arms and backed up until she hit the wall. She couldn’t get further away if she tried. ‘Here are your earrings.’ She flung them at Jane’s feet. ‘Take them and go.’
The old Jane would’ve done exactly that. But if she wanted to make changes, she needed to start now, by regaining control after last night’s aberration.
‘I didn’t do it, Lou.’ She spoke so softly Louise inadvertently leaned forwards. ‘I didn’t sleep with Ed.’
‘You’re a bloody liar. He said so and you ruined my marriage—’
‘He’s the liar. I let you think it was me because I was so bloody jealous of your perfect marriage. Plus I still held a stupid grudge that you turned your back on our friendship after you got married and you didn’t ask me to be a bridesmaid—’
‘I had three kids under five and a useless cheating husband who was never around!’ Louise yelled. ‘What did you expect, for us to share spa days and long lunches?’ She shook her head. ‘Get over yourself.’
‘I was selfish and disillusioned, but I did not sleep with Ed.’
‘You’re lying,’ Louise said, her icy tone a match for her glare. ‘People said you screwed half the town back then and when you ran out of single guys, you came after my husband.’
Pain sliced through Jane’s resolve. Was this worth it? What would really change if Louise knew the truth? Then again, this was about her as much as her old friend and getting people to see the real Jane had to start somewhere.
‘There are a lot of assumptions about me that aren’t true. I swear I never touched your husband.’
‘Why wait until now to tell me? It doesn’t make sense.’ Doubt clouded Louise’s eyes, giving Jane a flicker of hope.
‘I’ve been in a bad place for a long time, but I’m done with self-sabotaging and regrets.’ She shrugged, like her plans for a new life meant little when in fact they terrified her—the enormity of what she faced in trying to regain respect from everyone, including herself, was difficult to contemplate. ‘Consider this my very own twelve-step redemption program.’
Her self-deprecating smile made some of the animosity in Louise’s wary gaze fade. Her shoulders slumped as she leaned against the wall. ‘Maybe I should embark on my own self-awareness program? Ed is a cheater and a liar and I keep him around because I’m petrified of being on my own. I don’t love him—I despise him—but if it’s tough financially now I can’t imagine what it’d be like with him gone.’
Jane’s heart ached for her friend. ‘I can’t tell you what to do, Lou, but if you’re considering giving him the boot, get some legal advice first and start consolidating your finances, stuff like that. Divorce is tough but for what it’s worth, you deserve so much better than Ed.’
Louise bit her bottom lip and nodded. ‘If you didn’t sleep with him, why did he tell me you did?’
‘Because he’s an arsehole.’
Her dry response earned a bark of laughter from Louise.
Jane hadn’t intended on telling Louise the whole truth but if it helped motivate her to kick Ed out, she’d do it. ‘He made a move on me. And I may have been in a bad place back then thanks to some stuff I was going through with my mum, but even I wouldn’t stoop so low as to get it on with your husband.’ She blew out a breath to ease the sudden tightness in her chest. ‘You meant a lot to me, Lou. We were best friends in high school and I would never hurt you that way.’
Louise sighed. ‘I think Ed might’ve always had the hots for you. He drove a wedge between us deliberately. He saw how close we were during the engagement and started implying you were into him, so I … backed away from you. That’s why I didn’t ask you to be a bridesmaid.’
‘Arsehole,’ she muttered again, adding, ‘Jealous dickhead,’ for good measure.
They laughed and, in that moment, Jane felt lighter than she had in years. Yeah, this confronting and confessing thing had a lot going for it.
When their laughter petered out, Jane said, ‘Do you think that maybe we could get together for a coffee some time?’
Louise hesitated. ‘Can I think about it? I’ve got a lot to do.’
Jane tried to mask her disappointment. Then again, what had she expected? She’d let Louise believe a lie for so long. ‘No worries.’
Louise slid a hand into her pocket and pulled out a mobile. ‘I do appreciate you telling me the truth. It’s given me a shove in the right direction.’ She brandished her phone. ‘I’m making an appointment with a lawyer right now.’
‘Good for you.’
Louise still eyed her warily but for besties who hadn’t spoken in a decade, Jane felt like they’d definitely made progress. ‘Is your number still the same?’
Jane nodded.
‘Once I get my shit together, I might call you.’
‘Great, I really hope you do.’
Giving in to impulse, Jane crossed the room and enveloped her old friend in a hug. After an awkward moment, Louise hugged her back briefly before stepping back.
It gave Jane hope that the friendship she’d valued and stupidly sabotaged might be salvageable after all.
CHAPTER
6
Tash didn’t mind her daughter taking long walks; she preferred Isla exercise than being glued to a screen. She tried to maintain a screen-time limit on Isla’s laptop and mobile but considering Tash worked long shifts, she wasn’t around to monitor Isla all the time and, like any kid, Isla pushed boundaries. She’d considered reducing screen time as further punishment for what Isla had done to Dennie, but it irked that her daughter suffered the brunt of a penalty because of something that was technically not her fault. If she’d told Isla the truth about her father, maybe it wouldn’t be such a big deal when other kids asked her about it. Then again, Isla learning her father was a rock star could potentially bring a whole other set of problems: kids only being interested in her because of her dad and subsequently never knowing if a friendship was real or fake.
No, she’d done the right thing in deflecting the truth again yesterday but it annoyed her that Isla had to miss a month of netball because she’d overreacted to a touchy subject.
She spied her daughter stomping up to the back door so slipped her hands into oven mitts. She’d baked Isla’s favourite, white choc and blueberry muffins. She understood the coach had to discipline Isla as physical violence wasn’t tolerated, but she wished the penalty hadn’t been so harsh.
Isla barrelled through the back door and kicked off her shoes. ‘We have a new neighbour.’
‘Oh?’ Tash opened the oven and reached for the muffin tray.
‘Yeah. He seems cool. A little grumpy though.’ Isla inhaled. ‘That smells so good.’
‘Don’t eat them all at once,’ Tash said, lifting up the tray as Isla said, ‘His name’s Kody.’
The tray slipped from Tash’s grip and clattered against the oven rack. Her hands shook as she steadied the tray, managing not to scorch herself. A second later and the muffins would’ve been all over the floor.
‘Hey, are you okay, Mum? Did you burn yourself?’
‘I’m fine,’ Tash said, her voice sounding weak and reedy. ‘The tray slipped.’
Ridiculous, to have such an over-the-top reaction to a name. There had to be countless men called Kody. What were the odds of her Kody moving in next door? Not that he was hers. He never had been. Not really. Her Kody, the man she’d loved unreservedly, would’ve never accepted her lie. He would’ve known she’d never terminate a baby of theirs. He would’ve come after her, sat her down and figured out a way to make their relationship work.
Instead, she’d been forced to leave her nursing degree behind and come home to Brockenridge, knowing how difficult it would be telling her conservative parents
the truth. But never in her wildest dreams had she anticipated they’d shun her, moving away to ‘escape the shame’, leaving her with little savings and having to raise a baby with minimal help.
So he could never be her Kody. Because her Kody only existed in her imagination, a perfect version of an imperfect man.
‘Mum, what’s going on with you?’ Isla touched her arm and Tash jumped, almost upending the muffins again.
‘Just tired,’ she said, backing away from the oven and placing the tray on the sink to cool.
‘I think you’re stuck in a rut,’ Isla said, reaching for a muffin. ‘You need a boyfriend.’
‘Where did that come from?’
‘You don’t date. Which is kind of weird, because you’re young and cool and pretty.’ Isla studied her, head tilted to one side in a gesture so reminiscent of her father that emotion clogged Tash’s throat. ‘I told Kody if he wanted to have dinner any time, he should come over.’
Tash didn’t know whether to hug her daughter for being so welcoming and friendly to a stranger or chastise her for the same. She settled for tweaking Isla’s ponytail. ‘Are you trying to matchmake, young lady?’
‘Maybe.’ Isla’s impish grin lightened her heart. ‘Anyway, he probably won’t bother, because he looked grumpy and sad about something, so don’t worry about it.’
‘I won’t,’ Tash said, hoping she sounded blasé, because saying she wouldn’t worry and actually not worrying were poles apart. She’d dwell, conjuring up all sorts of crazy scenarios where her neighbour turned out to be the only guy she’d ever loved.
There was only one way to stave off endless hours of angst.
She’d have to pay her new neighbour a visit.
CHAPTER
7
Kody had never been big on cooking but being on the road for three hundred days a year meant he had a few go-to meals rather than surviving on fast food. Pasta and veg, chicken salad and pumpkin risotto were staples he whipped up when he got some time to himself. The boys used to tease him about his hunger for healthy, ‘girly’ food but he’d acquired a taste for those particular dishes when Tash introduced him to the joys of fresh food over takeaway and he’d equated them with comfort ever since.
Silly, to associate comfort food with Tash, considering their relationship ended so badly. But being on his own in this place, without his other comfort—music—left him with too much time to think. And he hated that. Thinking left him morose and guilt-ridden, dwelling on what could have been with Tash, and what should have been at his last concert. He should’ve abandoned the elaborate fireworks when the band’s lead stagehand called in sick and the show had to be managed by a less-experienced guy. He should’ve made the decision based on safety and not on ego, determined to conquer every city in the world including Wellington. He should’ve done more to calm the panicked crowd before they stampeded and ended up killing seven of the band’s fans.
That’s what he found the hardest to live with: that those people had been there to see Rock Hard Place, to listen to the band’s hits, and had been guilty of nothing but seeking pleasure and escape through music. And because of his insistence on using the complicated fireworks instead of going ahead without them, they’d ended up dead.
No amount of alcohol or prescribed meds could stop the nightmares. He’d eschewed the recommended therapy sessions. He’d had his fair share of counsellors growing up, being forced to sit in faux-cheerful rooms with rainbows and suns stencilled on the walls and unburden himself about what went wrong in the latest foster home. It never worked because he didn’t trust easily, let alone grown-ups intent on ‘fixing’ him. They’d cajole and pretend to be his buddy, and when that didn’t work, they’d get him to fill out meaningless questionnaires and draw pictures. He’d toy with them, either acting out his anger at the world or toeing the line by giving the spiel he knew they wanted to hear: ‘Yes, I understand I’m lucky to be given a home by people who want to care for me. Yes, I’ll do my best to behave in an appropriate manner. No, I won’t release my frustrations on those around me.’ Blah, blah, blah. On and on until he hit his teens and learned cleverer ways to outsmart the shrinks.
Taking time out had to work, because he couldn’t go on like this. Scowling, he turned off the stove and drained the pasta into a colander. He focussed on chopping spring onions, capsicum and snow peas, then dicing the poached chicken, a mindless activity that usually soothed but today, he couldn’t shake the feeling of impending doom. Bumping into that kid, Isla, had him in a funk. What if she’d recognised him? What if she told her friends? The news of his whereabouts would spread like wildfire and he’d be screwed.
He needed this time-out. When the boys had railroaded him into it, he’d been angry and resentful, but being here had already had a beneficial effect: he’d managed a laugh at that kid’s smart mouth, something he hadn’t done in weeks.
Maybe he was worrying about nothing. Rock Hard Place’s demographic weren’t young teens, so the odds of the kid having even heard of him were slim. But she had said he looked familiar …
The knife slipped, narrowly missing the tip of his index finger, and he cursed, loudly.
An impatient knock on his door had him cursing again. If that kid thought she could waltz in here and bug the crap out of him, he’d set her straight. Yanni had warned him that country folk thought it perfectly acceptable to bang on someone’s back door, even strangers.
He crossed the cool slate floor and flung open the door.
To find Tash on the other side.
Tash blinked. Once. Twice. As though the innocuous reaction could erase the man before her. But he wasn’t a mirage. He was all too real, sporting the same shell-shocked expression she must be. A chill swept over her body, a ripple of ice that spread from her head downwards, invading every cell and rendering her mute.
This couldn’t be happening. In what warped, twisted world did the man she’d deceived more than thirteen years ago, the man who travelled the world, the man who was recognisable anywhere, the man who’d fathered her child, show up out of the blue as her neighbour?
She had no idea how long they stood there, gaping at each other like a couple of morons, but when her brain eventually kicked into gear and worked in sync with her mouth, she managed a lame, ‘Kody?’
Stupid, asking a question she knew the answer to. Of course this was Kody. She’d know him anywhere. The same shaggy dark hair the colour of hot chocolate, the same dark eyes bordering on ebony, the same mouth that could coax the most wonderful responses out of her. Other than fine lines fanning from the corners of his eyes and deeper grooves bracketing his mouth, he looked the same. Sexier, if that were possible.
‘What the hell are you doing here?’
His frigid tone exacerbated her chills. No inflection. No warmth. Like he couldn’t stand the sight of her. She supposed she deserved it considering how she’d treated him during their last conversation, the night she’d driven him away deliberately. His tone may be frigid but his eyes—they roved over her, hungry, greedy, remembering …
‘Can we talk?’
His lips compressed into a thin line but he flung the door open wider and walked away, leaving her with an impressive view of faded denim moulding a taut butt and navy cotton highlighting the shift of muscles in his back. Tash stood rooted to the spot, enjoying the view. It had been way too long since she’d had sex. She couldn’t remember the last time. Three years ago? Four? A pharmaceutical salesman had been passing through town and stayed at the roadhouse for a night. He’d been one of those slick suit types, full of charm and smooth lines. The antithesis of Kody. Isla had been at a sleepover, the guy had said all the right things and Tash had allowed herself to be swept away for a night.
‘I haven’t got all day.’
Kody’s rebuke startled Tash into moving inside, a blush burning her cheeks as she realised he must’ve caught her ogling. She closed the door and followed him into a large, modern kitchen, where the ingredients for his dinner lay on t
he island bench. Chicken salad, the way she’d shown him to prepare it.
A wave of disabling nostalgia consumed her and she blindly reached for something to lean against. Unfortunately, that happened to be Kody, as he moved swiftly to her side.
‘Don’t you dare bloody faint on me,’ he muttered, leading her to a chair at the oak dining table in the corner. ‘Sit. Breathe.’
Feeling increasingly stupid, Tash sat and took several steadying breaths. Only then did she risk looking at him, propped against the island bench, looking like a model channelling sexy rock star on holiday.
‘What are you doing here?’
His upper lip curled in a sneer, like she had no right to ask him anything. ‘Taking a break, not that it’s any of your business.’
‘Out here? Why aren’t you sunning yourself in St Moritz or Barbados or Bora Bora?’
‘Because being stuck in the arse end of the earth ensures anonymity.’
She stifled a guffaw. She’d been guilty of labelling Brockenridge the same when she’d wanted to escape it after high school and her parents had insisted she could do nursing at a country hospital rather than at university in Melbourne. They hadn’t been impressed. Maybe that had been the beginning of the end for them. Then again, her parents had never understood their only child; partially her fault for being too agreeable.
‘The fame getting to you?’
Something dark and painful shifted in his eyes. ‘You still don’t watch the news?’
He’d teased her about her lack of current affairs knowledge when they’d been dating. She hated the news, every boring, depressing second. Yet the fact he remembered something so small about her sparked something deep inside, a memory of shared intimacy.
‘No. Why should I? It’s always bad.’
‘Yeah, I guess.’ He looked away, but not before she glimpsed something akin to fear in those dark depths. ‘There was an accident with fireworks at one of our concerts in Wellington. It caused a stampede.’ He dragged his gaze back to meet hers and the depth of his agony snatched her breath. ‘Seven people were killed.’
