It turned out Jo’s mum, Shirley, hadn’t changed much at all either. She was still an older, harder-featured version of Amy. Her hair was bottle-blonde now instead of natural, and the million tiny lines around her mouth from the cigarettes she smoked back-to-back, probably even in her sleep, had deepened, but that was it. Those changes didn’t really draw Jo’s attention much, though. Not after she noticed the familiar stilted way Shirley was moving around the kitchen, grimacing as she undertook even the simple task of pouring boiling water into a teapot. Nope, not much had changed at all.
Contrary to whatever she’d told Amy, their mum had either a few broken ribs or a hell of a lot of bruises hiding somewhere under her neat white blouse and loose linen trousers.
Feeling fury bubbling and swirling in her gut, Jo sat silently on a cracked orange Naugahyde kitchen chair and listened to Amy’s nervous chatter about her business and their mum’s gossip about what had gone on around town since the last time Amy had visited.
Unlike Jo, Amy had reconciled herself with the fact their mother had never left their dad. Jo hadn’t. She didn’t have much to say, and Shirley didn’t have much to ask, so Jo just sat there, gritting her teeth, waiting for it to be time to go so she could get home and call her father. She didn’t want to see him, but she’d bloody well call him. She wasn’t a kid any more, unable to help her mum out and pay her back for all the times Shirley had gotten in the way of Ken’s fists when Jo had been too small to make herself scarce. No, she and her mother might not have seen eye to eye on anything over the years, but that didn’t mean Jo was going to stand for this.
To break the tension on their return trip, Amy flicked on the local radio station, which was still inexplicably playing the same five songs it had bored people with for the past thirty years. Jo preferred silence but hadn’t complained because she knew that Amy was doing it just as tough as she was, she just coped with it differently.
Their mutual relief when Amy pulled up out the front of Jo’s apartment building was palpable. After a quick hug, Jo uncurled herself and climbed out of Amy’s tiny car, feeling a little bad about her mood until she remembered how her mum had looked earlier. She waved her sister goodbye as the pink mini pulled away, the music turned up loud again, and then walked up the stairs to her apartment with a heavy tread.
All she had to do now was call her dad, and then she’d sleep for a year or two straight. She put the key in the door and turned it, only to lose balance and fall forward as it was opened for her.
‘Gnh,’ Stephen grunted as she landed against his chest, shoulder first, no doubt knocking his lung capacity temporarily down to zero per cent.
‘Oh, God,’ Jo exclaimed. ‘Sorry.’ She righted herself, using his shoulder as balance, jerking back at the feel of warm, bare skin. He smelt of washed man, sun and salt; a nice smell, a welcome smell. She would have fallen over again if he hadn’t caught her hand and held her steady.
‘Don’t be,’ Stephen said before letting her go and taking a step back. She fidgeted as he took in her pale face and the no-doubt-huge black circles under her eyes. ‘Everything okay? You look like you’re going to pass out on me again.’
Jo began to reply but was distracted by the sight of his bare chest. The man was wearing only a low-slung pair of board shorts on a body that she would be inclined to have a few palpitations over if she didn’t see well-muscled guys on a regular basis at work. She leaned back a bit, trying to take in the view of nicely shaped pectorals with a smattering of blond hair. He had a nice stomach, too. Toned but not too defined. Just right. She wanted to run her hands over it just to feel if those muscles were as hard as they looked.
‘Jo?’ He reached out to steady her again by placing his hands on her waist just above the waistband of her jeans.
‘Yeah. Yeah, sure.’ She ran a hand through her hair, feeling like a clumsy idiot. ‘Sorry.’
‘Heard you the first time,’ he said, eyes crinkling in amusement. ‘I just got back from the beach and was going to order in a pizza. You want something?’
Jo felt her cheeks heating up at all this attention. ‘Yeah, that’d be great.’ She pulled away and dropped her green canvas handbag by the door. ‘I just have to make a call first. I’ll be with you in a minute.’
Her phone was flat, so she picked up the landline phone and walked towards her bedroom. At the last minute, she changed direction and swerved into the bathroom. Locking the door and sitting down on the toilet lid, she braced herself to talk to her dad for the first time in fourteen years. Her hands were shaking as she dialled the phone number she’d obtained from her mum earlier, under the guise of wanting to apologise for not seeing him. Just saying the words had left her feeling ill, but her mum had believed her. Shirley had always had a blind spot when it had come to Jo’s dad. Even after he’d kicked the crap out of her, Shirley would still tell Jo and Amy he was a good man and couldn’t help it. Well, he could bloody well help it now. Jo would make him.
She paused, trying to calm herself down, distantly hearing Stephen talking out in the living room, ordering the pizza. The sound of his voice was strangely comforting.
Raising the earpiece, she desperately hoped the old man wouldn’t answer but at the same time prayed he would so she could get this over and done with.
‘Hello. Ken Blaine here.’
‘Dad. This is Jo,’ she said, surprised at how level her voice sounded.
Ken paused just perceptibly before speaking. ‘Jo? Right. What can I do for you, mate?’
Jo felt bile rise in her throat at his forced, cheerful, booming tone. Such a fucking sham. To be putting on this kind of act he had to be in public, probably down the pub, given the time of night. Her dad would never lose his composure around someone outside the family. He’d always been all about appearances. Jo and Amy had spent years hiding bruises and acting like everything was okay for fear of what he’d do if the Hardys or anyone else in George Creek ever found out about his drinking problem. As a result, he was probably still considered a good bloke by the people in the community.
Jo knew for a fact he’d relish the image of being a good bloke done wrong by his wayward daughters so much that he’d never admit to anyone that she’d called him. It’d kill his long-suffering image and take away all the sympathy he’d dined out on for years.
Jo took a deep breath to quiet the unadulterated fury and adrenaline surging through her and started speaking in a low, measured tone. ‘Cut the crap. I saw Mum today. The game is up. I’m going to say this once. If you lay a hand on her or do anything to mess with her ever, ever again, anything, I’m coming back down there with Scott and those photos we took years ago, and we’ll be having another talk with Sergeant Russell. You hear me?’
Her words were met with dead silence.
‘Ah, mate. That’s not on. I don’t think you’ve got any call to be talking like that. It’s been years, so why get so worked up? Why don’t you come down here and speak to me about it one-on-one?’ Ken responded finally. His tone still calm and easygoing, a man talking a friend out of a mild upset. The people around him wouldn’t notice, but Jo could hear the edge that for so many years had signalled how truly pissed off he was.
‘I’ve said all I’m going to say. I’m not bullshitting you, either. You leave her alone, or every one of your buddies in George Creek is going to know what a complete bastard you are, and you’ll be kissing your job goodbye. I’ll be checking on you.’
Ken must have realised Jo had her hand on the ‘end call’ button because he talked quickly. ‘Ah, mate. So you saw Shirley, did you? I’ll have to discuss this with her later.’
His threat was clear and she felt the old fear come back, mixed with a rage so cold it crystallised around her lungs, restricting her breath.
‘Touch her again, and we’ll have you up for assault so quick your head will spin,’ Jo snarled. She hung up the call, dropped the handset onto the mat on the bathroom floor and held her head in her hands until the shaking went away. Then she got
up, stripped off her clothes and stood under the shower, scrubbing herself until she felt clean again.
‘Hey,’ Stephen called out as she emerged from the bathroom, hair dripping, and an oversized blue bath sheet wrapped around her. ‘Everything okay?’
‘Yeah.’ Jo plastered on a smile.
‘The pizza just arrived. You want me to wait for you to start?’
He sounded so normal, so friendly, that Jo’s eyes began to prickle with tears, and she stood with her back to him, breathing steadily until she was sure her voice would come out all right.
‘Yeah. That’d be great. I’ll be a few minutes.’
It took seconds to put on some pink boxer shorts, yet another gift from Amy, and pull one of Scott’s old Nirvana T-shirts over her head. They clashed horribly, but right now she needed a reminder of the people she cared for. She didn’t bother with a bra. Given the footing she and Stephen had started on three days ago—hell, over twenty years ago—there wasn’t really going to be any chance of her impressing the guy anyway. She was pretty sure he’d always see her as Jo ‘Rabies’ Blaine, the social pariah. With their history, how could he not?
When she wandered out to the living room, Stephen was a picture of a contented man, slouched comfortably on the couch, his gold-blond hair stiff with salt, face slightly red with sunburn, a beer in hand as he watched TV.
The open pizza box on the coffee table wafted the unmistakable smell of pepperoni and anchovies through the house, reminding her she hadn’t eaten all day. Her stomach did a Cookie Monster impersonation.
‘Hungry, are you?’ Stephen looked up from the CSI Miami rerun he was watching. Jo had seen this episode already, more than once. One of her co-workers, a mountainous Tongan nicknamed Grommet, had a thing for CSI, or anything with David Caruso in it, for that matter. Jo suspected it was a heavy-duty man crush.
‘Sure am.’ In the face of so much normality, the sick, pumped-up feeling from her call to her dad seeped away through her pores.
‘Great.’ Stephen put a slice of pizza on a plate and held it out to her. ‘I ordered one with everything without asking if you like anchovies. You want me to pick them off for you?’ He actually looked like he would if she said she didn’t like them.
‘You try and take my salty fish away, and I won’t be responsible for my actions.’ She took the plate, sat down on the couch next to him and curled her legs up underneath her carefully, making sure she was close enough to get to the pizza but far enough away that they weren’t touching.
Stephen chuckled and resumed watching his show while Jo glanced surreptitiously at him. He still hadn’t put on a shirt. It was making her strangely nervous, or maybe that was leftover adrenaline, so she covered it up by eating much more than she’d intended to. Good thing she was wearing elastic-waisted shorts. It had definitely been a week for overindulgence. The way things were running, she’d be going back to work and welcoming the bad food just to lose weight.
‘Want a beer?’ he asked after they’d finished.
‘Yeah, sounds great,’ Jo said, cringing at the way her voice sounded all weird. Anyone would think she never spent time around men, ever.
Stephen didn’t say anything, just retrieved them each a beer, then slouched back on his side of the couch again, knees splayed, looking thoroughly entertained by the amazing way a serious crime could be solved in under sixty minutes.
Jo tried to do the same. It worked for a while until he cleared his throat, shooting her a sideways glance.
‘Nirvana, hey?’
‘It’s Scott’s. He gave it to me a couple of years back.’
‘Ah, that’s why it looked familiar. Actually it was mine. Scott stole it one summer when he was back home. I was pretty pissed off about it, from memory.’ He gave her a wry smile, eyes dropping for a fraction of a second to Jo’s chest and then back up again so quickly she might have imagined it.
‘Well, it’s mine now. If you want it back, you’re going to have to fight me for it,’ Jo said with a small laugh.
‘Nah. I think I’ll relinquish all rights.’ Stephen laughed too. He had a low sort of chuckle. Nice. Different from the boyish one Jo remembered from years before.
‘Thanks for the lasagna the other day, and the bacon and eggs, for that matter. I haven’t had a chance to see you to say that. And I’m wondering if I owe you thanks for the other night too. Was I disgraceful?’ She hoped to hell he wouldn’t say yes.
He gave her a slow smile. ‘Yeah.’
Damn. ‘Really? I’m so sorry.’
‘Ah, don’t be.’ He waved a hand. ‘You were kind of cute. I hear Mike had a tougher time. Scott found him sleeping in the hallway.’
‘We couldn’t lift him up the stairs.’
‘I’m amazed you got him as far as the house.’
Jo chuckled. ‘It was a team effort. I dragged, Amy prodded.’
Not wanting to focus too much on what she might or might not have said or done while drunk, Jo changed the topic and gestured to his clothes, or lack thereof. ‘Going to the beach and having a pizza on a work day, eh? Anything up?’ She had to admit she was curious. This was the first real conversation she’d ever had with Stephen, and she was enjoying it.
‘Yeah.’ Stephen’s face split into a huge white toothy grin. ‘Bridgett and I just agreed on a massive deal for the winery a few days back, and we finalised all the details this morning. Evangeline’s Rest cabernet sauvignon and sauvignon blanc will officially be on her restaurant Etienne’s wine list next month.’
‘Really? Congratulations,’ Jo exclaimed, catching his enthusiasm. ‘So Bridgett’s your girlfriend?’ she asked, going for a casual tone to cover up the sharp spark of jealousy she shouldn’t be feeling.
His smile dimmed for a moment then he shrugged, his expression turning rueful. ‘Well, not really. We’re sort of just friends with benefits. I don’t know if Scott told you, but I’m going through a bit of a messy breakup with my girlfriend, Lauren . . .’ He ran a hand over his jaw, wiping away the fleeting frown she would have missed if her senses hadn’t been on such high alert. ‘You know how it goes, right?’
‘Fair enough.’ Jo forced a nonchalant shrug that felt anything but. Having never been in a proper relationship as far as conventional classification went, she couldn’t judge. She could be crazy-curious about his ex-girlfriend and she could envy this Bridgett woman with a passion right now, given the smoking hot body Stephen was displaying, but not judge.
‘What about you?’ Stephen asked.
‘No one. Well, other than Boomba,’ Jo said, wrinkling her nose. ‘He’s enough, and he’s not even my man full-time. Amy and I usually share custody . . . well, we did before now.’
‘Really? Not about the part-time cat, but about there not being a guy?’ Stephen sounded genuinely surprised. He twisted around in the chair to fully face her, TV show completely forgotten, his expression momentarily far more intense than before. If Jo didn’t know better, she’d believe she was being complimented.
‘Yeah. Really,’ she replied dryly. ‘Try working on an oil rig eight out of every ten weeks and see how that works for you. Add the fact I’m half a foot taller than most potential candidates, on top of my salary being over double what the average guy can make here . . .’ She shrugged.
‘That’s tough.’ Stephen winced, either in real or feigned sympathy. Jo couldn’t tell. ‘So what do you do exactly?’ he asked. ‘Scott just said you work in Africa.’
‘I’m an engineer. I work on offshore oil rigs off the Mauritanian Coast.’ Jo waited for his expression to glaze over. Surprisingly, it didn’t.
‘My cousin, John, works as a driller on the North West Shelf. You ever worked there? Is what you do similar?’
‘Ah, well, no, I don’t do the actual drilling, but I help make drilling possible. I’m in charge of the fluid that lubricates the drilling process and transports cuttings to the surface. It’s a bit more complex than it sounds, though.’
Jo wasn’t sure how much information
to give. She didn’t want to bore the guy. On top of that, she was also painfully aware of how dodgy her job sounded, with all the references to pipes and drilling.
She tucked her feet more tightly under her backside on the couch, resisting the urge to cross her arms over her chest. ‘And yeah, I worked on the Shelf when I was starting out. It didn’t pay as well, so I went international.’
It was her usual spiel and had, until now, been enough, but Stephen began asking more questions. Initially she answered them self-consciously, thinking he was just trying to make up for his faux pas her first day home, but then, when he looked genuinely interested, she began answering with enthusiasm, describing what an oil rig looked like, the places she’d worked and some of the more idiotic things her colleagues had done. As she talked, she was reminded how much she enjoyed big chunks of what she did: the travel, meeting new people, the challenges. It felt good.
When the phone rang almost an hour later and interrupted them, she was surprised to find herself really disappointed. If she wasn’t mistaken, Stephen was too.
‘Want me to get that?’ Stephen asked, standing up.
‘No, I left the handset in the bathroom. I’ll get it.’ Jo waved him back in his seat with a warm smile, then reluctantly got up and walked to the bathroom to pick the handset up off the floor where she’d dropped it earlier.
Jo didn’t even get a chance to say hello properly before her father’s scream roared down the line.
‘You fucking bitch, if you ever threaten me again, I’ll fuckin’ kill you! You—’
It was like someone had punched her in the stomach with an ice brick. Old childhood fear slammed into new adult rage.
‘I meant what I said. Never touch her again, and if you call this number again, I’ll be down there quicker than you can blink, you bastard.’
Ken’s hysterical, incoherent shriek echoed around the bathroom as she hung up and let the phone drop again.
She stood hugging herself, shaking from head to foot, with enough adrenaline pumping through her to bring a corpse to life. All the contentment she’d been feeling only a few minutes ago in Stephen’s company had evaporated, replaced by a tension so great, she felt close to shattering.
Unforgettable You: Destiny Romance Page 7
