by Paige Toon
Then the lights above the stage go on. I lean closer to the mic as the crowd noise dies down. Joe doesn’t do announcements, he said, so I have to introduce myself. I’ll say a few more words later, but right now I just want to get down to business with one of my quirkiest songs.
‘Hi everyone. I’m Eliza Thomson and this song is called, “Don’t Forget Your Toothbrush”.’
I strum my guitar and start to sing.
‘You were amazing!’ Michelle enthuses as I step down from the stage. She’s come around to the side to meet me and I’m so grateful for her support. My responding thank you is heartfelt.
Joe appears and opens the backstage door, jerking his head towards it.
‘I’ll just go and lock up my guitar,’ I tell Michelle, glancing over my shoulder. I can’t see Angus.
‘That was a very nice set,’ Joe says as the door closes behind us. ‘I can’t believe we haven’t had you in before.’
‘I’d love to come back,’ I reply with a cheeky grin.
He chuckles. ‘I’m sure we can arrange something. Give me a call in a couple of days or pop in if you’re in town. We’ll set something up.’
‘Thank you!’ I try to resist hugging him.
I put away my things and freshen up, swapping my T-shirt for one that isn’t sweaty from being under the stage-lights. My hair is quite long at the moment and I’m wearing it in a single plait that drapes over my left shoulder. I need to get around to cutting it. My thoughts make the easy jump towards Rose, who recently cut Angus’s hair for him.
I wonder if she knew about this gig. Did she in any small way want to come? As soon as I think the thought, I push it out of my head. I’m not about to go getting sentimental.
Michelle is waiting near the door when I return to the bar area.
‘Do you know where Angus is?’ I ask, cutting to the chase.
‘He’s at the bar, getting you a drink,’ she replies with a smile.
‘Come on, then,’ I urge.
‘Hey!’ he says when we find him a moment later. He sweeps me up in a hug and crushes me to his hot, slightly damp body. He feels incredible. ‘That was great,’ he enthuses, pulling away. ‘Best gig I’ve ever seen you do. Are you happy?’
‘Yeah. I think so. Yes.’
‘Here, I got you a beer.’
‘Thanks.’ We chink glasses.
‘Which is the guy you think Rose might like?’ I ask him a little later, furtively studying his friends.
‘Evan, there.’ He nods at a dark-haired, medium-height bloke wearing a white shirt and navy blazer.
‘You reckon?’ I wrinkle up my nose.
‘You don’t think she’d go for him?’
I shrug. ‘I don’t know. Maybe. Yeah, actually, she probably would.’ He looks a bit too safe and middle-of-the-road for me. ‘What was she doing tonight?’ I ask.
‘Just watching telly,’ he replies casually.
‘You didn’t think about asking her to come?’
He looks confused. ‘I thought you didn’t want her to know we’re seeing each other?’
I shift on my feet, suddenly uncomfortable. ‘Don’t you think it’s a bit odd keeping it from her? I mean, why is it a secret?’
He looks nonplussed. ‘Okay, no worries, I’ll come clean tomorrow.’
‘She’s going to wonder why you didn’t mention it. It’s not like we’re doing anything wrong.’
I blush as soon as the words come out of my mouth. Unfortunately, he notices. He stares down at me for a long moment, his mouth drawn out into a straight line. Then one of his mates interrupts and that’s the last we say on the matter.
Angus drives Michelle and me home. My nerves are back in force as we walk into the apartment.
‘I’m knackered, guys, I’m calling it a night,’ Michelle says, raising a cheeky eyebrow at me as she goes in for a hug.
‘Thanks for the lift, Angus,’ she adds nonchalantly.
‘You’re welcome,’ he replies. He sounds nervous too.
‘Do you want a beer?’ I ask him.
‘No, I’ve had my limit,’ he replies, slumping onto the sofa.
‘Coffee? Tea?’
‘A soft drink would be good. I’ll be up all night if I have another caffeine hit.’ He yawns and stretches, making his T-shirt ride up.
‘I didn’t realise you were driving tonight,’ I call, heading into the kitchen.
‘I wanted to give you a lift home.’
‘Really?’ I glance out the door at him. ‘That was sweet of you.’
He doesn’t say anything else as I get our drinks, joining him on the sofa. I sit at the other end, my knees up, facing him.
‘So, I wanted to run something by you,’ he says, looking awkward.
‘Go on.’ I’m immediately apprehensive.
‘Don’t look so worried,’ he says with a small smile. He can talk. ‘It’s just that I’ve been asked to write a feature about themed hotels and I need to check out one that I think you’d like. It’s called Hotel Gotham. Have you heard of it?’
I sit up straighter. ‘The one in the old Bank building that’s inspired by Batman?’
‘That’s it.’
‘The rooftop bar there is supposed to be great!’
‘And the restaurant is great, too. I know you probably can’t get out of work on Saturday night, but do you want to come for dinner with me on Sunday?’
‘Definitely!’
He grins. ‘I don’t know why I was worried about asking you.’
I pull a face at him. ‘Neither do I, you moron. You should have known I’d jump at the chance to do anything Batman-related.’
We used to get so excited about comics when we were younger.
We chat for a little while, but soon I’m stifling yawns.
‘You’re knackered,’ he notes. ‘I should probably head off.’
‘Sorry, no, you don’t have to go,’ I say.
‘I’d better. I’ve got a deadline in the morning, but I’ll see you on Sunday? I’m going to check in at around three p.m. and chill out so come whenever.’
I follow him to the door and lean against the wall, waiting for him to open it. I wish he wasn’t leaving. He turns to face me.
‘You were incredible tonight,’ he says sincerely. ‘Well done.’
He really means it, too. The words could sound glib coming from anyone else.
‘Thank you again,’ I reply seriously, looking up at him.
He doesn’t make any attempt to leave, and as we continue to stand there facing each other, my heart begins to beat faster.
He sighs quietly, a pensive look in his beautiful eyes.
And then he speaks. ‘I still care about you.’
I swallow, unable to look away, until his small step forward jolts me to my senses.
‘Angus,’ I say, startled. ‘No.’
He touches his forehead to mine and takes my hand, silencing me. That’s all he does. But my heart feels like it’s about to catapult itself out of my ribcage.
‘I’ll see you Sunday. Any time after three,’ he reminds me, and then he steps away, letting go of my hand to open the door.
‘Wait...’ I say, as he walks over the threshold.
He stops in his tracks, but doesn’t turn around.
‘Maybe don’t say anything to Rose, after all,’ I say.
He nods and I close the door behind him.
As soon as he’s gone, my mind goes into overdrive.
What am I doing? Nothing has changed, not really. Phoebe might not be here, but Mum and Rose are, and what the hell would Judy think? Angus and I can’t be together, not like that.
But the thought of going back to never seeing him makes me want to sob my heart out.
Michelle finds me on the sofa in exactly that state a few minutes later.
‘Hey!’ she exclaims, hurrying over to me. ‘What’s wrong?’
I shake my head. I’m crying, so talking isn’t ideal right now.
She runs her hand across my h
air, soothingly.
‘What happened?’ she asks. ‘Are you thinking about Phoebe?’
‘I’m always thinking about Phoebe!’
‘Aw, Lize,’ she says gently, still stroking my hair. ‘I know I’ve said this before, but have you tried talking to her?’
‘No.’ I shake my head. ‘I can’t. I wouldn’t even know where to start.’ My bottom lip is trembling like crazy.
‘Can it hurt to try?’ she asks.
‘Yes,’ I bite back. ‘It can hurt a lot.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she murmurs.
‘It’s okay. Maybe I just need to get some sleep. I’m sure I’ll feel better in the morning.’
‘It’s been a pretty full-on night,’ she agrees. ‘You’ve had a lot on your plate.’
I nod and get up from the sofa, drying the tears from my eyes.
‘Eliza?’ She calls after me on my way to the bathroom.
‘Yes?’
‘Isn’t it about time you put yourself first? If Angus is the one for you... I don’t think Phoebe would want you to be unhappy.’
‘Phoebe would hate me to be with Angus!’ I hiss, my voice sounding choked.
‘Are you sure about that? Because I’m not convinced,’ she says.
I suddenly feel very weary. ‘I’m so tired of doing the right thing,’ I mumble.
‘Try talking to her,’ Michelle urges. ‘Please. For me.’
I don’t say anything as I head into the bathroom.
Chapter 22
Phoebe
It’s the middle of the night and I’ve just had another bad dream. I keep having them. Remy has walked out of our bedroom because he said I called out Angus’s name in my sleep. He’s upset, but I can’t even bring myself to go and comfort him – I feel too raw.
In my dream, Angus was with Eliza. They were passionately kissing and tearing each other’s clothes off. I screamed at them both and they looked at me with annoyance, then went back to what they were doing. I kept trying to pull them apart, but they shoved me away and laughed, like my distress was one big joke to them. It was awful. I can’t imagine getting back to sleep.
It’s late morning now and I’ve been thinking about why I’m having so many nightmares. I’ve got too much on my mind at the moment, too many choices to make, and I keep shutting out my thoughts during the day. I think my subconscious is getting back at me during the night.
The thing is, every time Remy does something amazing, like climbs a mountain with me, takes me paragliding or even just kisses me here on the balcony with the mountains in the background, I fall deeper in love with him. I’m so deep, it’s like I’ve tumbled into a crevasse and I can’t get out. He holds my heart in his hands and if he crushes it, he’ll crush me. I don’t like feeling so dependent on him. Angus never made me feel like this. I could be myself with Angus, confident and happy. I’m not sure I appreciated that as much as I should have. Not once did I feel clingy or insecure. Have I made a mistake, letting him go?
Chapter 23
Rose
If I had a pound for every time I’ve heard someone say that they hate the smell of hospitals, I could probably buy myself a flight to Australia to visit my Uncle Simon. But you never hear that when you work in a bakery. Quite the opposite, in fact. There is something so heart-warming and life-affirming about the smell of freshly baked bread. I begin my days in the best possible mood.
Today, though, when I unlock the bakery door at seven a.m. using the spare key I had made, something is not quite right.
An indie rock song is blaring at high volume out of the bakery stereo, and when I open the door, Toby is sliding some rolls – he still can’t get used to calling them barms – off a large metal tray and onto a wire rack. He’s wearing a white T-shirt and has a white rag tied around his forehead, keeping his dark hair off his face. He looks a bit like he should be doing karate, not baking.
I go and turn the music down and he looks over at me.
‘Did your dad have to leave early again?’ I ask.
He gives me a dark look and then places his hands heavily on the worktop in front of him.
‘He’s at the hospital,’ he says. ‘Mum had a heart attack yesterday evening.’
‘Oh no,’ I hurry over to him, touching one hand to his flour-dusted forearm and the other to his back. His T-shirt is damp under my palm, a sign of how hot it is in here with all the ovens blaring.
‘They think she’ll recover. It was only minor. A warning sign,’ he says bitterly.
‘I’m so sorry. Are you okay?’
He straightens up, and our contact loosens. ‘Yeah, but I’m running behind.’
‘Have you been here on your own all night?’ I ask with alarm, looking at the dozens of loaves of bread cooling on the wire racks.
He nods.
‘You must be exhausted!’
No wonder he had his music on so loud. It’s probably been keeping him awake.
‘I’m fine,’ he says wearily. ‘This was the last batch.’
‘Tell me what I can do to help.’
‘Can you set up the shop? I could really use a cigarette break.’
‘Of course.’ I give him a sympathetic smile and go and get the cash register money from the safe. I’ve worked enough shifts now to know what to do to get started. The turnover from this place has been pretty incredible since its opening. Let’s hope it keeps up like this.
Later, after our regular customers have been and gone, Toby fires up the coffee machine. He looks shattered, his actions slow and sluggish.
‘Instead of drinking that, why don’t you head home to bed?’ I suggest in a no-nonsense tone. ‘I can manage here.’
He shakes his head. ‘I’d rather keep going.’
‘What if your dad can’t come in tonight?’ I say. ‘What then? You need to rest now, while you can.’
‘I don’t want to be at home.’ He looks suddenly anguished.
‘Hey,’ I say gently, going over to give him a hug.
‘I hate that place,’ he mutters, looping his arms around my waist and resting his chin on the top of my head. He sighs loudly.
‘Go for a lie down out the back, then,’ I suggest, pulling away slightly to look up at him.
‘Okay.’ We let each other go and I watch him push through the bakery door with a sinking heart. Poor guy. ‘Wake me up before the lunchtime rush,’ he calls over his shoulder.
But when I nip into the bakery just before midday, I find him out cold on the floor, his lean body curled around a sack of flour. I can’t bring myself to rouse him so I carry on alone.
It’s two o’clock before he emerges, and by then the shop has quietened down. I’ve been run off my feet.
‘Christ,’ he mutters, rubbing his eyes. ‘Why didn’t you wake me?’
‘You needed to rest more than I needed help,’ I reply.
‘Thanks.’ He smiles at me sleepily and then yawns. I notice he’s holding his mobile phone. ‘Dad called from the hospital. They’re keeping Mum in for a couple of days so he’s going to need me to bake again tonight. You were right.’
‘Toby, you have to go home,’ I insist. ‘Get some sleep in a proper bed.’
‘Yeah, I will, after this shift,’ he agrees.
‘It’s not going to be busy now,’ I say, checking the time. ‘I can manage. When do you need to come back?’
‘Ten o’clock.’
‘Bloody hell.’
‘Dad does it every day,’ he says with another yawn. ‘I’ll refresh the starter before I leave.’
The ‘starter’? But a customer comes in so I let Toby go back into the bakery without asking.
I’m so knackered that evening that I crash out at nine, but only a few short hours later, a bad dream stirs me from sleep. I lie there for a while, wide awake and unable to doze off, and soon my thoughts drift to Toby. I know what it’s like to lose a parent to a heart attack and no doubt he’s terrified that his mum won’t pull through. He has so much to deal with. Right now, he’s a
t work all on his own. I check the time on my alarm clock. It’s just after two o’clock in the morning. Am I really going to get back to sleep tonight? Or should I bite the bullet and go and help him?
A moment later, I’m out of bed and throwing on the first thing I lay my hands on in my wardrobe – black jeans and a navy top. Then I bundle my hair up into a bun and go to the kitchen to write Angus a note, letting him know where I’ve gone.
There’s a chill in the air and the sky is sparkling with starlight beyond the orange street lamps as I get out of the car and walk along the pavement to Jennifer’s. Sale is deadly quiet. It’s Friday night, well, Saturday morning, but everyone is at home tucked up in bed. Everyone except us.
I recognise the song that’s playing when I enter the premises, but I’m so out of touch when it comes to cool music that I wouldn’t have a clue who it’s by.
I push open the bakery door and see Toby carrying a large, clear plastic container over to the wooden island unit.
‘Hey!’ I shout, knowing he’s going to be freaked out when he sees me. ‘Toby!’
But he’s still completely oblivious. He tips an enormous blob of dough out onto the work surface and begins to fold the dough edges up and over, from the outside in, turning it to face him each time. I’m fascinated as I watch, and a moment later he’s left with a smooth, round, elastic ball. He looks up and nearly jumps out of his skin.
‘Holy shit!’ he exclaims. ‘What are you doing here?’ He goes to turn the music down, but the loud chugging of machinery still fills the air.
‘I couldn’t sleep. Thought you might be able to use some help.’
‘I think I might love you.’ He exhales with relief as he strides around the worktop and engulfs me in a hug. My chest expands as I hug him back.
‘Tell me what to do,’ I prompt as he goes to check the contents of the Hobart – the large dough mixer standing on the floor.
‘Pass me the caraway seeds,’ he says, turning the machine off.
I do as he asks and he tips them into the dough, setting the machine going again.
‘Can you grab me the bannetons, too?’ He returns to the mound of dough waiting on the wooden countertop. ‘You can help me shape the sourdough.’
