by Nicola Marsh
‘Okay, I’ll be in the kitchen when you’re finished.’
Isla shuffled her feet, shifting her weight from side to side, before finally eyeballing Tash. ‘I guess I should thank you for finally telling me the truth.’
Tash’s throat tightened and she managed a brief nod.
‘But if Kody hadn’t moved in next door, would you have told me?’
Tash had lied enough so she shook her head, hating herself when Isla’s face fell. ‘Probably not, sweetie. Like I said, I wanted to protect you—’
‘I think you wanted to protect yourself, Mum.’
With that, her wise, mature tween stalked back into the house and slammed the door.
Half an hour later, Isla stomped into the kitchen. Tash had prepared nachos, one of Isla’s favourites. The tantalising aromas of roasted tomatoes, capsicum and melted cheese hung in the air, and Tash hoped the meal would tempt her daughter to sit down and talk this out.
‘You’re bribing me with food,’ Isla muttered, snatching up a corn chip and dunking it in sour cream before popping the laden triangle into her mouth.
‘Guilty as charged.’ Tash placed the piping hot tray between them before laying out plates and serviettes. ‘A little comfort food never goes astray.’
‘I guess.’ Isla plonked onto the seat opposite and used the metal tongs to help herself to a giant, gooey wedge of nachos. She avoided eye contact and her jaw jutted slightly, like she was clenching her teeth. ‘I’m going to eat this before asking you stuff, okay?’
‘Okay.’
They sat in silence, a first when it came to her garrulous daughter. Tash hated the tension between them but it was to be expected. At least Isla’s bitterness hadn’t diminished her appetite. Tash forced a few chips past her lips while Isla had no problem demolishing half the dish. Tash even had to replenish the guacamole after her daughter scooped up as much as she could fit onto each chip before stuffing the lot into her mouth. It heartened Tash to see Isla eat like that. Maybe she hadn’t scarred her for life.
‘Nachos are so good.’ Isla wiped her mouth with a serviette before patting her stomach. ‘Thanks.’
‘You’re welcome.’
They lapsed into awkward silence again. Tash could practically see a million questions bouncing around her daughter’s head so she waited, hoping she could answer them. She loved being a mum but nothing had prepared her for parenthood. Her folks had been crappy role models—controlling, reserved, emotionless—and she’d vowed to be the opposite in every way. Yet while there were countless books and online articles on how to breastfeed/wean/potty train, there weren’t many manuals on dealing with the fallout after revealing a life-changing secret.
‘Kody’s really famous. Can you tell me about him? How you met? How you ended up dating? That kind of stuff?’ Isla flung the questions out casually, but Tash saw the way she plucked and twisted the serviette in her hands, almost shredding it.
‘We met in Melbourne. I was studying there, doing a nursing degree, and we met at a pub one night.’ An understatement for the instantaneous connection they’d shared when Kody swaggered up to her, leaned down and murmured in her ear, ‘That last song of our final set was for you.’ It was a line, one he’d probably used on countless girls before, but Tash had been naïve and lonely and living in a big city far removed from her sheltered upbringing, so she’d responded with, ‘In that case, you better sit and let me buy you a drink.’
They’d talked well into the night, and every time his knee brushed hers or his fingers touched her arm, she lit up, as though an electrical current surged through her and made her come alive for the first time ever. And when he invited her back to his studio apartment, she threw her usual reservations to the wind, and ended up losing her virginity and her mind to the sexiest guy on the planet. He owned her from that moment, body and soul, and she’d loved him wholeheartedly, unreservedly.
‘We fell in love, shared our hopes and dreams. He had an amazing talent and his band was going places. When I fell pregnant, I didn’t want to force him into making a really hard choice, so I broke up with him.’
Isla’s eyes screwed up, as if she were pondering a particularly difficult maths problem. ‘So he knew about me but chose to go anyway?’
‘I gave him no choice. I drove him away deliberately so he wouldn’t think he had to stay out of guilt.’ The reality of how she’d driven Kody away was something she could never discuss with her daughter. Tash patted her chest. ‘This was my fault, Isla. I didn’t want him resenting me if he stayed to be with us so I was really mean and made sure he left.’
‘How?’
She should’ve known Isla wouldn’t let this go easily. ‘The specifics aren’t important. But what is important is that by some strange twist of fate, your dad’s here and living next door for a while. How do you feel about that?’
Isla’s gaze dropped to the shredded serviette in her hand and she put it on her plate. ‘I want to meet him properly. As his daughter, not just some kid he bumped into by the fence.’
‘Would you like me to arrange it?’
Isla bit her bottom lip and nodded, and once again Tash had to clamp down on the urge to haul her in for a comforting hug.
‘Do you want me to be there?’
Isla remained silent for a moment then said, ‘Maybe at the start? Then you could leave us to talk?’
‘That sounds like a plan.’
Isla fell silent again, her expression a mix of fear and hope, propelling Tash around the table to lean down and wrap her arms around her daughter’s shoulders. Isla stiffened but she didn’t shrug her off and Tash was grateful for that.
‘This is a lot to handle and I’m incredibly proud of you.’ Tash dropped a kiss on Isla’s head and straightened. ‘And I think this calls for me to ditch my anti-soft-drink rule for a day and pour us both a cola.’
‘You let me swear before too,’ Isla said, the return of her sass giving Tash hope they could cope with whatever challenges came their way when Kody entered their family unit. Hope they could move forwards with a suitable arrangement that had Isla’s best interests at heart. Hope that whatever the future held, they would never lose this incredible mother–daughter bond that was Tash’s life.
CHAPTER
10
Fury surged through Kody after Tash left, making his hands shake and his head pound. He kicked out at a stool, upending it, before his gaze landed on the guitar in the corner and bile rose in his throat at his utter helplessness. Yelling at Tash to get the hell out hadn’t put a dent in his anger. He needed to get out of here, to blow off steam, and he knew just the way to do it.
Grabbing keys off the labelled row of hooks above the entry table, he stormed into the carport and headed for the quad bike. Yanni loved any kind of all-terrain vehicle and the band had gone ag-biking in Nevada, California and New Zealand. Yeah, a fast ride would clear his head and calm him down so he could think this through logically.
What did he know about fatherhood? Nothing.
What did he know about mentoring young girls? Nada.
What did he know about patience and commitment and being a role model a child could look up to?
‘Fuck,’ he muttered, snagging a helmet from a storage cabinet and jamming it on his head before climbing onto the bike.
It started after several attempts and he revved the engine before letting out the clutch and accelerating out of the carport. He followed a roughly hewn path across a paddock towards a dam. He let the throttle out once he cleared the first paddock, picking up speed. The wind in his face, the roar of the engine and the blur of trees in his peripheral vision served to distract. He needed this, needed his rage to abate. Back in the house it had nowhere to go but out here, he could contemplate Tash’s shocking revelation without wanting to break something.
He’d never dealt with frustration well. As a kid, he’d throw the biggest tantrums, which was probably why his father dumped him into foster care when he was six. As a teen, he’d acted out
: fights; alcohol; dabbled in drugs. But he’d hated the blackouts and had steered clear of any kind of stimulant since, despite being offered the high-end stuff all around the world. It had been his love of music and meeting Yanni and his mates at sixteen that had turned his life around and since then he’d dealt with problems by losing himself in composing and singing.
Today, that wasn’t an option. Not that he hadn’t considered it, but every time he so much as glanced at the guitar propped on a stand in the corner of the rumpus room, he broke out in a cold sweat. It scared the shit out of him that he may never get past this. His career could be over.
But for now he had other things to worry about. Namely, being a father when he had no idea how. The father figures he’d known had ignored him, tortured him or belted him. He’d pretended he didn’t care, grew tougher with each beating, learned to hide the pain beneath a veneer of arrogance that only incensed his torturers further. It served him well, hiding his true feelings, because his ‘stage face’ came in mighty handy when he’d been sick or exhausted or not given a fuck but still had to perform.
Ironic that, in all the beatings he’d suffered at the hands of sadistic bastards, he’d never felt this flayed open, like his chest had been split and his heart laid bare.
How could Tash do it to him? How could she lie about aborting the baby then keep his daughter a secret for almost thirteen goddamn years?
An ache like nothing he’d experienced before spread through his chest. He’d adored Tash once, had loved her so much he would’ve done anything. Her deception made him want to down enough bourbon to pass out for a week.
A bad thought, because in the next moment the bike hit something hard, sending a powerful jolt up his spine and propelling him into the air. He flew one way, the bike another, and as he came down he heard the distinctive crack of a bone breaking the second before excruciating pain in his left ankle made him cry out.
He woke to find himself flat on his back, staring at a cloudless sky, terrified to move in case he’d broken more than his ankle. He gingerly pushed up onto his elbows and glanced at his legs, instantly wishing he hadn’t. His ankle protruded from the bottom of his jeans at a right angle to his leg. A wave of nausea made him lie back down.
Gritting his teeth against the agonising throb in his ankle, he fished his mobile out of his pocket and dialled 000. The operator put him through to the ambulance service and after he gave his location he closed his eyes, listening to the soothing voice of the emergency service worker, trying to picture himself anywhere but here.
He should never have come to this godforsaken town. His shitty life had turned shittier since he’d arrived at Wattle Lane.
But a small, stubborn part of him refused to join the pity party, because if he hadn’t come here he never would’ve discovered he had a daughter. Isla.
He may know jackshit about parenting but once he got his ankle sorted, he had to pull his finger out and start acting like a responsible adult and not some whiny, woe-is-me kid.
‘Kody, are you still there?’
‘Yeah, not going anywhere,’ he muttered, his dry response earning a chuckle.
‘You should hear the chopper any minute now.’
Chopper? Of course. He’d come off in a paddock in the middle of nowhere; a car couldn’t traverse this terrain.
The whoosh-whoosh-whoosh of helicopter blades broke the silence and he watched the chopper grow closer until it landed about five hundred metres away. He tried propping himself up on his elbows again then wished he hadn’t when breath-stealing pain ripped through his leg, like someone had skewered him from foot to hip.
The next thirty minutes passed in a blur: being strapped onto a portable gurney; loaded onto the chopper; a short flight to the nearest hospital in Echuca; examination in ER. Several nurses recognised him, a doc too, but even in his pain haze, he implored them to keep his identity confidential and they agreed. With X-rays done and a break confirmed, his ankle was plastered, but not without a lecture about the dangers of quad-bike riding. He now lay in a single bed in a quiet room, waiting to be picked up.
That had been the kicker. When the discharge nurse asked who she should call to pick him up, he’d had to give the name of the only person he knew in the area: Natasha Trigg. The nurse had cast him a suspicious glance when he couldn’t give her Tash’s number but said she’d look it up when she got back to the nurse’s station.
Tears of frustration burned his eyes and he blinked them away. Tears were for sissies, he’d been told many times growing up. They served no purpose other than to make a person look weak.
But right now, with the guilt of those concertgoers’ deaths on his hands, the fear he may never sing again, the revelation he had a daughter, and a broken ankle that hurt like the devil, he didn’t care about weakness.
He felt like bawling.
CHAPTER
11
Tash had been reluctant to drop Isla off at a friend’s place after the big discussion they’d had earlier in the afternoon, but her daughter had been insistent. Tash understood; Isla needed some space, more time to process, and Tash didn’t want to hover. She’d always been a bit of a helicopter parent when Isla had been younger, for the simple fact she only had one child and couldn’t foresee having any more. Not that she was closed off to dating, per se, but the availability of single guys in Brockenridge was low. Those who moved away tended to meet women and marry elsewhere, whereas the few who remained tended to be hard-working farmers perpetually under the pump who rarely had time for a relationship.
While she had no intention of hanging out with Kody for however long he was in town, it was kind of sweet Isla had thought to invite him over because she didn’t have a boyfriend. It looked like her daughter had been borrowing one too many young adult romances from the library.
‘Can I get another beer, love?’
Tash nodded at Bazza, the octogenarian farmer who popped in to The Watering Hole for a late lunch once a month. ‘Sure thing, but you know two’s your limit.’
‘You sound like the old ball and chain,’ he muttered, along with something that sounded suspiciously like ‘nag’.
Tash bit back a grin as she slipped behind the bar to pull him a beer. Bazza and Shirl had been married for sixty years and bickered whenever they came to the roadhouse. Considering her longest relationship—with Kody—had only lasted a few months, she couldn’t imagine living with someone and tolerating their foibles that long.
‘Here you go.’ She placed the beer in front of him. ‘Go easy on that one, it’s your last.’
‘Yep, you could be Shirl’s double.’ Bazza glared at her, before tempering it with a wink. ‘Remind me to find another place to whet my whistle.’
‘Come on, Baz, ’fess up, you’d miss my nagging.’
‘Women,’ he muttered with a roll of his eyes, before grinning at her and taking a giant draught.
She’d done the right thing by popping in to work. An hour or two of an extra shift was guaranteed to take her mind off things. But with Bazza savouring his beer and no other customers, her mind inevitably wandered to Kody and what had brought him to Brockenridge. She grabbed her mobile and slipped into a quiet corner near the bar. It had been many years since she’d typed ‘Kody Lansdowne’ or ‘Rock Hard Place’ into a search engine and it felt plain weird doing it now. Yet she needed to know what she was dealing with when it came to Kody’s mental state, so she could protect Isla if necessary. There was no way the tough guy she’d known would have walked away from his band and his career over an accident.
The concert accident popped up as the third item in a long list of hits. The report didn’t tell her anything more than what Kody had: seven people at a Rock Hard Place concert in Wellington, New Zealand, had been killed and another twenty-three injured in a stampede when patrons had been spooked by a fireworks malfunction and the resultant fire. Sorrow for those poor people who’d lost their lives and their families squeezed her chest. It must’ve been horrific for all in
volved, including the band. Had Kody witnessed some of the carnage? Is that why he was hiding out? She assumed the band would’ve been whisked to safety first, but in a situation like that who knew what could happen? Whatever he’d seen, being witness to a tragedy could seriously mess with his head.
‘Someone’s got a crush,’ Ruby said, peeking over Tash’s shoulder. ‘Kody Lansdowne is seriously hot.’
Tash whirled around, cheeks burning as she slipped her mobile back into her pocket.
Ruby hooted. ‘Look at you, all hot and bothered over a rock star—’
‘Kody is Isla’s dad.’ The truth tumbled from her lips before she could consider the wisdom of telling one of her closest friends a secret she’d kept hidden for over a decade.
Ruby’s eyes widened and she burst out laughing. ‘You had me there for a second—’
‘It’s true. We were a thing in Melbourne before he got famous, and now he’s here in Brockenridge and he’s moved in next door, and I had to tell Isla the truth and everything’s a bloody mess …’ Tash trailed off, almost relieved to get all of that off her chest.
Ruby grasped Tash’s arm, led her to the nearest seat, and pushed her into it. ‘Be right back.’
Now she’d told her friend the truth, Tash had the distinct urge to unburden herself. Silly to have kept this inside for so long, because Alisha and Ruby were the least judgemental women on the planet, and when she’d told Alisha years ago, her friend had said nothing beyond urging her to tell Kody the truth. Then again, not so silly after all, because Tash knew if she’d told all her friends about Kody she would’ve been tempted to look him up again and no way did she want to end up back in that spiral of doubting her decision and wishing for things that couldn’t be.
She’d done enough of that when Isla had been a toddler, when Tash had come home from a long shift at The Watering Hole, tucked her daughter into bed, and spent way too much time online, analysing every aspect of Kody’s glamorous life. The parties, the awards, the women … it had driven her crazy, imagining the kind of life she could’ve had with him. Then she’d tiptoe into her adorable daughter’s room, stare at her innocent, cherubic face lax with sleep, and know she’d made the right decision. Dragging a child from one city to another, dealing with intrusive paparazzi, not having a real home—that was no life for a child. Tash had definitely done the right thing, but in those early years it hadn’t stopped her wondering what if and yearning for something, or someone, she could never have.
