Unforgettable You: Destiny Romance

by Georgina Penney

  The next day he’d heard the same girl and Scott in the bathroom at the Christmas party and had assumed they’d been going for it. They’d come out and that’s when it had all gone wrong.

  Stephen had immediately recognised the girl as a grown-up Jo Blaine and it had been as if something in his head had just clicked off. He’d known her for years. How had Scott gotten to her first? How had Stephen not noticed that she’d gotten hot?

  Watching Scott and Jo hang out at the party together, he’d been so pissed off, so jealous that Scott had kissed her first that he’d done something totally stupid. He’d gone and told Jeff Rousse, his oldest brother Clayton’s best mate and Jo’s arch-nemesis, about what he’d heard in the bathroom, knowing exactly what would happen.

  Jeff had then, in turn, become completely hammered and had declared to everyone that the Blaine girl had been screwing Scott. The entirety of George Creek had been there, and Jo had left the party in tears with Scott chasing after her.

  Stephen had immediately realised just how much he’d screwed up.

  He’d driven over to Jo’s place first thing the next day to apologise, only to be told by a devastated Ken Blaine that the girls had gone; that they’d now be living in the city with their aunt to get away from the shame.

  It was a wonder Ken had ever forgiven him. It was amazing Scott had ever forgiven him.

  When Stephen had found out that Amy Blaine ran a barber shop in Fremantle a few years ago, he’d immediately gone around there to apologise and somehow, miraculously, they’d struck up the casual don’t-ask-don’t-tell friendship they shared today. And Jo . . . well, maybe he was getting there with making it up to her. He’d like to think he was.

  ‘Stephen? Stephen?’

  He snapped to the present to find his cousin and his aunt looking at him with identical exasperated expressions. ‘What?’

  ‘We’ve been trying to get your attention for the past five minutes, that’s what,’ Corrine said, loading her coffee cup in the dishwasher.

  Scott flicked him on the forehead. ‘Where the hell did you go there? You look like a stoned muppet.’

  ‘Scott,’ Corinne said with a frown.

  Scott raised his brows. ‘Let me rephrase that. He is a stoned muppet. You ready to go or not?’

  Stephen ran his hand over his head, feeling a little dazed. ‘Yeah. You loaded your board on the roof?’

  ‘Just did it.’

  ‘Where’s Mike?’

  Scott rolled his eyes. ‘Coming. Eventually.’

  Corinne sighed. ‘It’s a hard life, isn’t it? Surfing in the middle of the day.’

  Both Stephen and Scott guffawed. Corinne was the first person to head down the beach and work on her tan whenever she could get out of the office. Today was a case in point.

  The minute Stephen had walked through the door and mentioned surfing, his aunt had immediately decided she’d take an extended lunch and tag along. Her excuse was that she was spending time with her son after Scott had been overseas for most of the past year, but they all knew she’d be fast asleep on a beach towel before they caught their first wave.

  ‘Mike!’ Stephen looked up at the ceiling and bellowed for his brother.

  ‘Yeah!’

  ‘You coming?’

  ‘Yeah! Just hold your horses.’

  ‘He’s still making himself pretty for the sharks,’ Scott said.

  ‘Nah. They wouldn’t eat him. He’d be too full of hot air. He’d give’em indigestion,’ Stephen added.

  ‘My time is wasting away here.’ Corinne looked at them both before proving she was well and truly a Hardy in volume when she yelled at the ceiling. ‘Michael Hardy, if you don’t get down here in the next two minutes, I’m going to start charging you for my time. And it will not be family rates, young man.’

  Seconds later there was the sound of muffled profanity and the stomping of feet on floorboards overhead.

  ‘See, gentlemen. That’s how a lady gets things done.’ Corinne gave them a smug look that turned pointed when she looked at Stephen. ‘And she’d get things done a heck of a lot faster than certain nephews of hers if she was allowed to do her job.’

  Stephen huffed out a sigh. ‘I know, but just let me do this at my own pace, okay? I know what I’m doing.’

  ‘He should make that, he knows who he’s doing.’ Mike walked into the room wearing a pair of Stephen’s board shorts, a towel slung over his shoulder. ‘We going? I’ve been waiting all morning.’

  ‘So, has your clitoris sent you a postcard from wherever she went with the settlement after she divorced you, or are you two talking again?’ Amy asked nonchalantly, dipping a handful of fries into a sinfully delicious bowl of mussels in white wine sauce.

  They were sitting in a shaded mossy beer garden at one of Jo’s favourite pubs, only a few minutes from Amy’s work. After four days of hibernation, catching up on months of missed sleep, Jo had finally entered civilisation again.

  Jo swallowed her mouthful of Leffe Blonde. ‘Irreconcilable differences. We might need a third party to help bring us together again.’

  ‘Ah. An intermediary.’ Amy leaned back in her chair and gave her sister a speculative look, pursing her vivid pink lips. ‘Anyone in mind?’

  ‘With my job? Honey, they’re all eye candy and then they start talking. It’s tragic. Surrounded by good-looking men every bloody day of my life, and ninety per cent of them with the IQ of an amoeba. Actually, thinking about it, they might just look good because I’m stuck with them for so long in a small space.’ Jo shook her head. It was sad but true.

  ‘Bummer.’ Amy shrugged philosophically. ‘But you’ve got friends out there, right? It’s not all bad, is it?’

  ‘It’s not, but most of the good guys are on the old rig I used to work on. There’s not as much eye candy on this new rig, either.’

  ‘Hmm . . . that does make things difficult. I can see why you’d want to quit your job if the perving isn’t so good. You going to eat those chippies?’

  ‘Nope. They’re all yours.’

  Amy dived right in while Jo people-watched.

  ‘You know, half the problem is that all the men around here are too bloody short.’

  Amy snorted. ‘You’re fussy.’

  ‘Hell, yeah.’ Jo stretched out her long legs in front of her. ‘The last thing I want to do is spend the rest of my life looking down at a man’s bald spot.’

  ‘Hey!’

  ‘You’re a barber, that’s different.’

  ‘Yeah? Thanks. Anyway. Speaking of hair, namely luscious blond locks, how’s it going with Stephen?’ Amy asked.

  Jo narrowed her eyes. ‘Where did that come from?’

  ‘Same place your bald spot comment came from. So, Stephen . . .’

  ‘Haven’t seen him at all. I wouldn’t even know he’s there except for the odd note left around the place. He’s not bad to have around really. Brought home some Italian for me the other day and left it in the fridge. Thought that was pretty nice.’

  ‘Yeah, that is nice. So was the hangover breakfast Boomba ate. Serious, though? You haven’t seen him?’ Amy asked. ‘Where’s he been then? Hiding in his room? Living under the stairs? You couldn’t have been that scary the other night, surely?’

  ‘Don’t know.’ Jo shrugged, making light of the hours she’d spent wondering the same thing, hoping she hadn’t totally made an idiot of herself. ‘I think he must be staying over at his girlfriend’s place. I remember Scott saying she’s some restaurateur or something.’ If her shrug was a little wooden she was prepared to deny it to her death. ‘Don’t care.’

  ‘No? So all that talk the other night with Mike was about another Stephen that you had a crush on for years. Oh! I understand now.’ Amy theatrically slapped her forehead and fell back in her chair.

  Jo covered her eyes with her hands. ‘Please tell me I didn’t get talkative?’

  ‘It was riveting,’ Amy said with relish. ‘I sort of suspected you liked Stephen from the way Scott used t
o tease you about him, but the other night you could’ve put Celine Dion out of business with all the stuff you were spouting about the guy. You sure you still don’t want to jump into his pants? He’s tall. Taller than you.’ Amy grinned, flashing the deeply set dimples in her cheeks.

  ‘I was drunk, Amy Blaine.’ Jo groaned. ‘Besides, it’s rude to remind people of the stupid stuff they say when inebriated.’

  ‘Sorry,’ Amy chirped, looking anything but. ‘Don’t worry. Mike let a few things slip I’m sure he’d rather were never repeated too. You remember?’

  ‘I vaguely remember something about acting, but that the family doesn’t know about it. Or something like that. Why wouldn’t he want anyone to know?’ Jo asked, screwing up her face in concentration, trying to force some clarity into the blur that their night out had been.

  Amy’s expression was entirely too innocent.

  ‘So how come you didn’t get all confessional too?’ Jo asked, throwing her napkin at her sister.

  ‘I did. You guys just can’t remember.’

  ‘Care to aid my recollection?’

  ‘Not bloody likely,’ Amy scoffed. ‘I’m enjoying the upper hand.’

  They paused their conversation to order some dessert. The two of them decided that it was definitely a day for some crème brûlée.

  ‘I hope you’ve realised by now that the whole thing years ago wasn’t Stephen’s fault,’ Amy said matter-of-factly the minute the waiter had left. ‘It all worked out for the best anyway. Look at us. Fabulous, successful and therapised. Simply marvellous.’

  Jo could pretend she didn’t know what her sister was referring to but knew it wouldn’t work for long. ‘I know. Dad was just a time bomb waiting to go off. If it hadn’t been catching us coming home upset from the party, it would have been something else.’

  ‘Yeah. So . . .’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So do you still have the hots for Stephen?’

  Jo burst out laughing, drawing attention from a nearby table of suits on their lunch break. ‘No! Who has the hots for anyone any more, anyway? You sound fifteen. Listen, Ames, if it wasn’t for your cat-allergic boyfriend—what’s his name?—I never would’ve seen Stephen again. Even if he has been trying to make up for being such an idiot the other day and messing up with Mike, I don’t know him well enough to have the hots for him. And I was drunk the other night, so what I said didn’t count. Got it?’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘Ah what?’

  ‘Nothing. And my boyfriend’s name is Pete, as if I haven’t told you already. Or maybe I haven’t. Anyway. What’s this about you wanting to quit your job?’

  Jo stared at her incredulously. ‘You joined the Spanish Inquisition or something?’

  Amy ignored her. ‘Has it got anything to do with them keeping you out there for four months straight? Four months! Aren’t they supposed to give you time off? I thought it’d be in your contract,’ Amy said, indignation on Jo’s behalf colouring her tone, her jaw set like a miniature general announcing imminent war.

  ‘Yeah, they are, but my new boss is an arsehole. There was a screw-up, and I had to stay and fix it. It’s not worth getting worked up over, Ames. The money was good for the extra time, and I’m home now.’ Jo hoped Amy would leave it at that. The last thing she wanted to do was admit she’d slept with her boss years before his promotion in a brief moment of sex-deprived lunacy. He’d been a dud, and she’d told him as much after kicking him out of her bed. In hindsight, she could have used a bit more tact, because he’d been gunning for her ever since. That’s what she got for going against her don’t-screw-the-crew rule.

  Amy opened her mouth to say more and then saw Jo’s narrowed eyes and got the hint. ‘Want another drink, petal?’

  Jo nodded. ‘Lemonade, thanks.’ She watched Amy wander over to the bar, her hips swinging in a red-and-white-striped wiggle dress and wondered, not for the first time, how they possibly could have come from the same parents. She looked around and saw the men at the next table turn to watch Amy too, but for entirely different reasons. Jo debated drawing their attention so she could give them a death stare, but changed her mind. Amy had been getting this kind of attention since she was fifteen, and on the whole, she was oblivious to it.

  ‘So. I’ve been meaning to ask you a favour.’ Amy set Jo’s lemonade in front of her minutes later.

  ‘Hmm?’

  ‘Can you come down with me to see Mum before you go back this time?’

  Jo sputtered in her drink. ‘What?’

  ‘It’d mean a lot to me, Jo,’ Amy said earnestly, baby-blue eyes huge and pleading.

  Jo grabbed a napkin and blotted lemonade first off her mouth, then the table. ‘Jesus. Next time you spring something like this on me, give me a bit of warning.’

  Amy shrugged defensively and swirled a finger through the froth on her beer while Jo fought a familiar stab of ancient guilt. They both felt responsible for leaving their mum alone with their dad when they’d run away from home, and recently it had fallen on Amy to drive down to visit Shirley Blaine in secret while their dad was at work. Jo hadn’t seen her mum for years, not since Shirley had caught the bus up to Perth and stayed with Amy for a week. If she had her way, she’d never set foot in George Creek, the town they grew up in, again, but this was Amy asking.

  ‘Is the old man going to be there?’

  Amy shook her head. ‘He wouldn’t do anything even if he was. Mum says he’s behaved himself since we left.’

  ‘Yeah, that doesn’t mean the thought of seeing him doesn’t still make me feel like hurling.’ Jo felt acid roiling in her stomach as she rested her elbows on the table, giving Amy a long-suffering look as her body recoiled from the emotional imprints it still harboured from years of beatings, the last one, which had been the decider, being the worst. ‘You know, this really isn’t the relaxing, stress-free lunch I was hoping for.’

  Amy put her hands on the table, leaning forward. ‘Come on, Jo, it won’t be that bad. I’ll drive us down, we’ll leave first thing in the morning and get back before dinner. Please.’

  Jo buried her face in her hands, her voice muffled. ‘You’re going to be a pain until I say yes, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Amy bit her lip, and if possible, made herself look even more pitiful.

  Jo gave in. ‘What day?’

  Amy’s relief was palpable, a wide smile wiping away the worry lines on her brow. ‘Tomorrow’s good. I’ll have Myf come in and take care of the phones. She sold about half of her paintings at the show, but I’m pretty sure she could do with a bit of extra cash.’

  ‘All right. Call me before you come. Getting out of bed that early while I’m on holiday is going to be a bitch.’ Jo sighed.

  Chapter 4

  Jo hated the three-and-a-half-hour drive down to George Creek in the Margaret River wine region, the town in which she’d spent the first sixteen years of her life—being known as ‘Rabies’ Blaine by the local bullies—living on Evangeline’s Rest, the Hardy family’s winery. She hadn’t returned since the night she’d left. It wasn’t any easier than she’d thought it would be and she’d never deluded herself into thinking a return would be easy. Her dad was still here. Still living with her mum. Still working for the Hardys. Jo’s long-held fear that he’d hurt Amy and her mum was still present and getting stronger the closer they got to their destination.

  She rolled down the window of Amy’s battered pink mini and looked out, feeling sick to her stomach.

  The smell of the sun baking the earth and the gum trees, the sight of grapevines and dairy cattle parked under the odd peppermint tree and the flies buzzing everywhere used to represent some sort of home to her, but now they just left her feeling as if she was travelling backwards to a not-so-pleasant past. She hated the sight of the town’s tidy paved flowerbed-lined main street, the old green corrugated-iron front of the feed store she used to work in, and the bright yellow Shell service station.

  Every familiar face she saw through the car
window as Amy drove them through town triggered memories of the miserable years she’d spent here and just how desperate she’d been to leave. Oh, she’d known a few good people. They weren’t all bad, but most of them didn’t live in George Creek any more. They’d gotten out like she had, so that all were left were the dregs.

  They passed the seventies square brick façade of the George Creek High School on the edge of town. It was still shadowed by a giant karri tree at its entrance, but some idiot had painted the bricks a spearmint green. The scent of eucalyptus, sun-baked basketball courts and bore-watered grass brought back a wash of memories that threatened to drown her, leaving her feeling sixteen and powerless again. She hated that. She hated this place for making her feel that way.

  They reached the other side of town, drove for another ten minutes, passing an ornate stone wall with ‘Evangeline’s Rest’ marked out in granite and then turned a minute later down the same nondescript driveway Jo and Amy had walked down every time they’d gotten off the school bus as kids. She’d walked down it the day Stephen had stood up for her when she was twelve after Jeff Rousse, the bully who had made Jo’s childhood hell, had gone too far one day. It was the same driveway she’d walked down every school day after Stephen had left for boarding school, leaving no one to stop Jeff from bellowing taunts at her back from the bus window. She could almost hear them now . . .

  Amy’s mini crunched over the gravel driveway and Jo and Amy’s childhood home came into sight.

  Not much had changed about the Blaine house to mark the passing of fourteen years, either. The white paint on the walls was even more faded on the gray wood, and the porch steps had rotted away so much that someone had piled up bricks instead, but that was all. Ken Blaine was obviously still too proud to ever accept Rob Hardy’s repeated offers to spruce the place up. Jo had only ever met Rob a few times but he’d always been kind. Her dad had always tried to prevent her and Amy from socialising with the Hardys, for fear they’d spill the beans about his problem with booze.