by Nicola Marsh
‘Nothing to explain. You’re stalling, trying to up the price, despite the place being empty for years.’ He shook his head. ‘Pretty shitty, if you ask me.’
‘Who asked you?’ She leapt to her feet, her determination to keep the discussion calm deserting her. ‘If you shut your big trap for one second and let me speak, you’d learn that I have nothing to do with those shops. They’re owned by my mother, who’s a bitter cow who’ll do anything to get me to dance to her tune, and she’s turning the screws because she somehow thinks I like you …’ She trailed off, mortified she’d said too much.
‘Why does she think you like me?’
He’d asked the question she had no intention of answering. ‘Who knows? Anyway, I’ve just come from her place. I told her she has to sell to you and Betty.’
Some of the tension holding his shoulders rigid dissolved as he crossed the room to sit in the armchair next to hers. ‘Do you think she’ll listen?’
‘Honestly?’ Jane screwed up her nose. ‘I have no idea. That’s the first time I’ve been home since I stormed out ten years ago, vowing never to return, and we rarely talk. But I tried. And I want you to know I’d never screw you over like that, not when you’re giving me a chance to decorate the place.’
He swiped a hand over his face; it did little to erase the sheepishness. ‘I jumped to conclusions. Sorry about that.’
‘Why did you?’ She hesitated, not sure if she wanted to hear the rest. ‘What did you mean about me being a game player?’
A surprising blush stained his cheeks. ‘When you’re not a cool kid at high school, you hate the ones that are.’
‘That’s it?’
‘You don’t remember, do you?’
‘Remember what?’
‘Home ec. Last day of first term, final year.’
She shook her head, embarrassed to admit the only thing she remembered from her last year at high school was trailing after Connor Delaney, doing everything in her power to make him like her. ‘Sorry, I don’t remember.’
‘Figures,’ he muttered. ‘At the risk of sounding like a dickhead for bringing up something that happened over a decade ago, I’ll tell you. I was a guy who preferred to cook rather than play cricket or footy, so you can imagine the shit I copped.’
‘Yeah, but I didn’t give you crap about that.’
‘You gave me crap about everything else though.’ He huffed out a sigh. ‘That last prac session, we had to work in pairs to make a lemon meringue pie. You were assigned to work with me. You said you’d buy the ingredients if I did all the cooking. When you didn’t show up in the home ec room at the time we arranged, I went looking for you. I found you at the oval, watching the footy team train. You’d bought the stuff but when I asked you to come make the pie with me, you accidentally-on-purpose dropped the bags at my feet. And you laughed like an idiot along with the dickhead players who made my life enough of a misery.’
Mortification flooded Jane, both at her actions and the fact she couldn’t remember the incident. Something that had been a blip on her radar had made a lasting impression on this great guy.
‘You really don’t remember?’
She shook her head. ‘I’m so sorry, Mason, I don’t. I know you and I used to butt heads over other stuff but that was a shitty thing to do. One of many shitty things I did to people back then because I was a self-absorbed bitch.’
‘Harsh but true,’ he deadpanned, making her smile a little.
‘I guess that explains why you thought I was screwing you around over the sale of the shop.’
He nodded. ‘But I jumped to conclusions and that’s almost as shitty as what you did.’
‘Not really, but I appreciate the comparison.’
Their eyes locked and the ever-present hint of heat shimmered between them, unexpected and untenable. She couldn’t do anything about her attraction—considering he already thought poorly of her, he might think any kind of flirtation was part of her repertoire to distract him from securing the shop and expanding the bakery.
‘So what’s the deal with your mum?’
‘Trust me, you don’t want to know,’ she said, the familiar sorrow gripping her heart. ‘Suffice to say we don’t get on and that’s enough of a reason for her vindictiveness to taint you too if she thinks we’re friends.’
Confusion clouded his eyes but she didn’t give him a chance to ask anything else. ‘Thanks for hearing me out. Let me know what happens with the shop, okay?’ She stood.
‘Sure,’ he said, standing too. ‘You’re still keen to decorate, despite my childish behaviour?’
‘If you still want me.’
His enigmatic stare bored into her as he touched her arm. ‘Absolutely.’
Before she could overthink his response, she did the only sensible thing she’d done all night.
She fled.
CHAPTER
24
With Isla’s thirteenth birthday coming up, Tash had to face facts. She may have been fiercely independent since she’d returned to Brockenridge and had encouraged Isla to be the same way, but sobbing her heart out in Kody’s arms a week ago had given her a much needed wake-up call. Now she’d faced her greatest fear—letting Kody into Isla’s life—maybe it was time to confront her parents.
Once Kody returned to the limelight the news he had a daughter would break and despite the cruel way her parents had shunned her, she didn’t want them hearing about Isla’s paternity via the media. Not that her folks had ever paid much attention to the news, but the small part of her that harboured guilt she’d disappointed them felt compelled to tell them face to face. So with one of the part-time wait staff covering her shift at the roadhouse, Tash drove two hours to the tiny town of High Ridge, a dot on the map south of Swan Hill. She’d never been there before but she’d researched her parents online. They weren’t hard to find considering they’d set up a Christian school for kids in remote areas. Their website boasted thirty students of varying ages, with a wide range of subjects on offer. Though Tash knew firsthand the primary form of education would be religious indoctrination.
She’d timed her visit to coincide with the end of the school day and as she parked opposite the small hall and watched kids trudge out, jostling each other and scuffing their shoes in the dirt, she hoped they had a better time being educated by her parents than she did. Predictably, a giant white cross took pride of place on the roof above the front door. She believed in a higher power, always had, but the sight of the cross brought back memories she’d rather forget: being dragged to mass despite having a temperature bordering on forty degrees; having to recite the rosary repeatedly until her throat ached because she’d been caught with a young adult paranormal novel deemed unsuitable; being grounded for a month because a boy in her class had asked her out on a date.
Blinking back tears, Tash waited, watching the deserted schoolyard for another ten minutes before getting out of the car. Crazily, she’d contemplated bringing Isla along to soften the confrontation, in the vain hope her parents might take one look at their incredible granddaughter and fall in love. But if this went the way Tash expected, she’d be glad she’d never exposed her precious daughter to her parents’ special brand of hate. She could take it—she had in the past—but it wasn’t fair to ask Isla to accept such awful treatment.
Steeling her resolve, she squared her shoulders and marched across the yard and up the steps to the front door. It was open, giving her a clear view into the hall. They’d set it up like a normal classroom, with two seats at each of the rectangular tables. A whiteboard took pride of place at the front, bookshelves lining one wall and stackable tubs emblazoned with children’s names on the other. But that’s where the similarity to other classrooms ended. There was no artwork on the walls, no colourful posters or newspaper articles featuring current affairs. As for computers, one screen with an ancient hard drive attached to it sat in the corner at the front of the room with the screen angled so that everyone could see it. It rammed home the fact that her folks still
viewed art as frivolous and self-indulgent, and media as the devil’s work.
Determined to get this over with, Tash knocked on the door and entered, almost jumping out of her skin when her father appeared seemingly out of nowhere from behind her.
‘What can I do for—’ The colour leached from his face as he gasped in shock.
He’d aged—a lot. Her parents had been in their early forties when she’d been born, so they’d always seemed old to her, but her dad looked older than seventy-six. Lines covered his forehead and cheeks, deep crevices surrounded his mouth and his tan emphasised the leathery appearance of his skin.
She wanted to say so much to him but settled for taking a step forwards and half-lifting her arms in the hope of a hug.
He scowled and took a step back.
She let her arms fall to her sides and dragged in a deep breath. ‘Hi, Dad.’
‘What are you doing here?’
‘I came to talk to you and Mum,’ she said, hoping her mother might soften once she heard more about Isla and saw the photos on her phone. Then again, she’d looked to her mum for sympathy many times in the past but she’d stood resolute, backing up Tash’s tyrannical father in every outlandish decision.
‘Your mother’s not here. She’s in Mildura doing outreach work for the church.’
Tash’s heart sank. She had no hope of getting through to her father but she’d come all this way, she had to try.
‘Listen, Dad, I need to tell you something—’
‘Not having another bastard child, are you?’ He glared at her stomach with ill-concealed distaste and Tash resisted the urge to turn tail and run.
‘Isla is wonderful, thanks for asking.’
His eyes narrowed at her sarcasm, malevolence radiating off him like a toxic cloud. ‘Leave. Now.’
‘I will, but I thought I’d give you the courtesy of hearing about Isla’s father from me rather than the media.’
When he remained silent, she said, ‘Kody Lansdowne is a famous rock star. He’s Isla’s father and he didn’t know about Isla’s existence until recently, and it stands to reason you might hear her name in the press associated with him once the news breaks. He’s making an effort to get to know her—’ unlike you ‘—and I thought I’d extend the same courtesy to you and Mum. Isla’s almost thirteen and a lot of years have passed since you shut me out, but she’s a wonderful girl and maybe you’d like to get to know her too—’
‘No.’ When he lifted his hand to point at the door behind her, it shook a little. ‘You’re dead to us, so we don’t have a granddaughter.’
A pain Tash had thought she’d conquered a long time ago blossomed in her chest, making breathing difficult. Ridiculous, to feel this crushed when she’d expected it, but the reality of her father’s heartlessness far exceeded the way this scenario had played out in her head.
‘I feel sorry for you.’ Tash turned away and headed out the door, only letting her tears fall when she reached the last step.
‘And I’ll pray for you.’
Tash froze for a moment before forcing her feet to walk at a sedate pace towards her car when she wanted to run from this place and never look back.
CHAPTER
25
With Isla due to pop in any moment, Kody set out after-school snacks. He’d been thrilled when Tash had asked him to mind Isla because she wouldn’t be home until late. Like he’d ever say no to that. He’d scarcely seen his kid over the last week, what with her busy extra-curricular activities schedule and massive homework load. He’d rattled around this place for seven long days.
Not that his time alone had been all bad. After his revealing chats with Tash and Yanni, he’d taken steps towards confronting his demons by utilising a website for mental health issues to chat via keyboard with a psychologist. He’d been wary at first, reluctant to reveal anything, but that was the beauty of remote contact: he could remain anonymous and divulge his innermost doubts without fear of being judged. Ironically, once he’d started talking he couldn’t shut up and all three sessions had run over two hours. The anonymity definitely suited him, because no way in hell could he confide in anyone face to face. Shrinks had a legal duty to patient confidentiality, but the last thing he needed was to be spotted visiting a psych by some overzealous local. He’d been in that position before, caught sneaking in to appointments or a rendezvous by relentless paparazzi, and he hated having his private life plastered across the tabloids. It was the one downside of fame he’d never gotten used to.
Chatting to a faceless psychologist had another bonus: the session could happen at a time that suited him. He’d always produced his best work late at night, when he’d sit in a low-lit room, pencil and notepad in hand, jotting down lyrics and melodies at will. Having the freedom to chat to someone any time he liked helped him divulge thoughts he’d otherwise be reluctant to.
The psych had helped him re-evaluate priorities and what letting go meant. Because once he started delving beneath his guilt—for those deaths, for not being around for Isla, for not fighting hard enough when Tash walked away—he realised how much his pent-up resentment was holding him back.
Knowing he’d let Tash walk away had particularly bugged him, because after he’d left Melbourne and landed in LA he’d spent several weeks bagging her, both in his mind and to his mates. It made him feel better to be the injured party, the guy who’d been robbed of a say in the future of their unborn child: poor Kody. But a small part of him had known, even back then, that he’d been secretly relieved Tash had made the choice for both of them. He hadn’t wanted to be saddled with a kid, not when his career had the opportunity to take off. And he sure as hell hadn’t wanted to make the tough decision whether to stay and be a father or head overseas for a chance at the big time. So he’d channelled those shameful feelings of relief into resentment and anger towards Tash. Easier to deflect than face the hard truth: that she’d made the right call in letting him off the hook.
Being older, wiser and having enough money to give Isla the life she deserved was a far cry from that stubborn, self-centred idiot he’d been back then. Time to stop blaming Tash for something he’d secretly wanted all along and be thankful for what she’d given him: a second chance at fatherhood.
A melodic knock at the back door signalled Isla’s arrival and he called, ‘Come in.’
The door opened and Isla appeared, grinning. She dropped her backpack, kicked the door shut and made a beeline for him.
‘Hey, Dad. School sucked but it’s good to see you.’
He laughed and accepted her hug, loving her demonstrative nature, amazed that she didn’t seem awkward when they were still establishing some kind of relationship.
When he released her, he said, ‘Good to see you too, kiddo. Tough day?’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Double period of maths, and no PE or drama.’
‘Will a banana milkshake and choc-chip cookies improve your day?’
‘Only if you add extra ice-cream in the shake,’ she said. ‘How’s the ankle?’
‘Not so sore.’
‘What have you been up to?’
Kids asked a lot of questions. He’d witnessed it firsthand with Daz’s two and when the band had done impromptu high school visits. Kids never held back, and their bluntness was a blessing and a curse. You can’t bullshit kids; they see right through you. But still, there was no way he’d reveal how he’d spent his week to Isla.
‘Not much,’ he said, scooping ice-cream into a blender, adding milk, a banana, and a dash of cinnamon. ‘Watching TV, reading, looking at the view.’
She wrinkled her nose. ‘That sounds almost as boring as all the homework I’ve had to do for some stupid tests.’
‘Homework is important.’ He held back a smile at his hypocrisy—he’d barely done a night’s homework in his entire schooling life and the plethora of Es and Fs on his reports proved it.
‘Sport and drama are important, the rest of that stuff like algebra will never be used in real life once I
finish school.’
Her cute pout was so reminiscent of Tash he had to flick on the blender to stop himself mentioning it. That’s another thing the psych had helped him with: confronting his jealousy that Tash held pride of place in their daughter’s affections because of the time he’d missed out on. Crazy, because Isla had been nothing but keen to welcome him into her life. But that didn’t mean he’d release all his resentment towards Tash at once.
Switching off the blender, he said, ‘Do you have any idea what you want to do after school?’
‘Not really.’ She perched on a stool at the island bench and rested her chin in her hands. ‘I’ve got plenty of time to decide, though I’d like to go to uni in Melbourne.’
Kody forced a smile even as he felt like yelling, ‘No! You’ll meet too many young guys who’ll take advantage of an innocent country girl.’ Which was crazy, considering he’d never taken advantage of Tash. Sure, he’d been more street smart than her, but their attraction had been mutual. The thought of his daughter encountering the big, bad world beyond Brockenridge scared the shit out of him.
‘Or maybe I’ll be a muso like my dad?’
She’d said it to test him; he saw it in the mischievous glint in her eyes. Once again, he wanted to warn her off, to explain the nebulous nature of the music industry, the constant rejections, the pitfalls of unscrupulous agents, the effort required for little return. He was one of the lucky ones, he knew that, but for every success story in this business there were another hundred talented musicians who’d never make it.
He unscrewed the blender lid and poured the milkshake into a glass. ‘I reckon you could be anything you want to be.’
A faint blush stained her cheeks as she accepted the glass from him. ‘Thanks.’
He’d heard this parenting gig could be tough but, boy, he was enjoying the early stages—every time Isla looked at him he felt like a god.
She downed the shake like she hadn’t had a drink all day, and followed it up with three cookies. Then she tilted her head to the right, another gesture reminiscent of Tash. ‘Can I ask you something?’
