The moment the thought crossed his mind his innate sense of fairness kicked in. She may have been in New York for six weeks, but before that Angie had been a rock, standing by his side and doing anything and everything she could to make things bearable after Billie’s death. More important, Angie understood more than anyone what losing Billie had meant to him, to his life. She and Billie had been more like sisters than friends. They had finished each other’s sentences, said the honest thing when it needed to be said and been each other’s best cheerleaders. Angie was trying to piece her life together, too. Trying to work out how to live in a post-Billie world.
That still didn’t give her the right to critique his life. It definitely didn’t give her the right to tell him he was a zombie or that he was living a half life or to tell him what his kids needed.
When was the last time you did something because you wanted to rather than because you had to?
He ground his teeth together, wishing he could expunge her words from his mind. He didn’t want to think. He didn’t want to lift his head and look around and see that life was going on around him. He wanted…
He wanted the impossible. Billie, with her huge smile and her even huger heart. He wanted her laughter echoing in the house again. He wanted to wake up in the morning and turn his head and find her lying next to him instead of an empty pillow. He wanted to kiss her lips and smell her perfume. He wanted to lie in bed and have her press her cold feet against his calves to warm them.
He wanted. And his want was never going to be satisfied because his wife’s aorta had dissected as a result of high blood pressure, a catastrophic cardiac incident that had meant she was dead before they reached the hospital. Billie was dead and gone, turned to dust. All he had left were the children they had made together and his memories and the house she’d turned into a home for them all.
Not nearly enough.
He sank to the deck, pulling his knees loosely toward his chest. It was cold, but he wasn’t ready to go in yet. Angie had stirred him up too much.
He stared into the darkness, aware, as always, of the silence within the walls behind him. Billie had been the noisiest person he knew. She’d hummed when she washed the dishes, sung in the shower, galloped around the house. Getting used to the new quiet had been but one of many small, painful adjustments he’d had to make over the past ten months.
He exhaled, watching his breath turn to mist in the air.
“Daddy?”
He glanced over his shoulder. Eva stood in the sliding doorway to his bedroom wearing nothing but her nightie, her arms wrapped around her body.
“You shouldn’t be out here. It’s too cold.” He pushed himself to his feet.
“What are you doing?”
“I could ask you the same question. You’ve got school tomorrow.” He laid a hand on her shoulder, turning her around and guiding her to her bedroom.
“I couldn’t sleep.”
They entered her bedroom and she walked dutifully to her bed and slipped beneath the duvet. “Can you tell me a story?”
“You need to sleep, Eva.”
His daughter was a night owl and a master of distraction and procrastination. If he let her, she’d be up half the night, demanding stories and anything else to delay putting her head on her pillow.
“Oh, all right.” Her tone was hard done by and world-weary and he couldn’t help but smile.
He kissed her forehead. “Sleep tight, don’t let the bed bugs bite.”
He pulled the quilt up so that it covered her shoulders. He started to straighten, but Eva’s hand shot out and caught a hold of his sweatshirt.
“You won’t forget about Imogen’s party, will you, like you forgot about the movies and roller skating?” she asked, her eyes fixed on his face.
He frowned. “What movie?”
“You said you’d take me to see Miley Cyrus’s new movie. Just like you said you’d take me skating with my class.”
It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her he didn’t know what she was talking about—then suddenly the memory was there, clear as day. Eva, cajoling and pleading, her hands pressed together as though in prayer, promising to do all her chores on time without him having to ask if he would please, please, please take her to the movies. He’d said yes, unable to deny her anything that might give her pleasure.
Then he’d forgotten to follow through on his commitment.
They need you to be a fully functioning human being first and foremost, Michael.
Guilty heat rose up his neck and into his face as Angie’s words echoed in his mind. He’d been too busy being defensive and pissy to actually listen to what she’d said, but it was impossible to ignore the anxiety in his daughter’s big brown eyes now.
“I’m sorry I forgot, sweetheart. I’ve had a lot on my mind lately.”
“I know, Daddy. You miss Mummy, don’t you?”
“I do. But that doesn’t mean it’s okay to let you down. I promise I won’t forget Imogen’s party, all right? We’ll put it on the calendar.”
“I asked Auntie Angie to remind you, too.”
Michael winced inwardly. No wonder Angie had felt compelled to say something.
“Good idea. And maybe we could catch that movie this weekend.”
“It’s not on anymore.”
“Then we’ll watch it when it comes out on DVD. Make a night of it with popcorn and everything. Okay?”
“Okay. Thanks, Dad.”
He kissed her forehead again and waited till she’d snuggled beneath the quilt before leaving the room.
He made his way to his bedroom and sat on the end of his bed. He scrubbed his face with his hands, exhausted. A perpetual state since Billie’s death. He thought about what Angie had said and Eva’s anxiety.
He needed to get his shit together.
It had been ten months since Billie had died and he needed to stop simply surviving and start living again—if not for his own sake, then for the kids. Because forgetting the Miley Cyrus movie hadn’t been his first screwup.
Only last week, he’d woken up, pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, then made Eva’s lunch and set her backpack by the front door, ready for the school run. He’d gotten her out of bed and into her uniform, strapped Charlie into the car. All part of their morning routine, a routine he did without thinking about it, day in, day out. It was only when he’d been backing out of the drive and the news had come on the radio that he’d realized it was a Saturday.
No doubt if he cared to sift through the past few months, he’d be able to find dozens of similar examples. What had Angie called it? A half life.
Highly appropriate, since he felt like half a person. As though he’d lost some essential part of himself when he’d lost Billie. He’d always been too quiet, too introverted, too inclined to get lost in his own head and his work, but Billie had dragged him into the world and made him engage and taught him to live as though he meant it. As though every moment counted.
But Billie was gone. And he was not, and the kids were not.
Life went on.
He pushed himself off the bed and went into the bathroom to brush his teeth.
He needed to make some changes, to do something to shift things. He thought about Angie’s suggestion—that he go back to work early—and forced himself to really consider it as an option, even though his first response had been to reject it, as he’d rejected everything else she’d said.
He’d taken the year off because he’d wanted the kids to have some kind of continuity of care after Billie’s death. She’d been a full-time mom and therefore their primary caregiver, and neither she nor Michael had family who’d been able to step in and help thanks to the tyranny of distance—Billie’s family were all in England, his own in Perth, a thousand miles and a time zone away. At the time, twelve
months had felt woefully inadequate to patch over the gaping hole left by Billie’s absence, but the truth was that the kids had been far more resilient than he’d ever imagined.
Not that they weren’t affected by their mother’s loss—they were, in hundreds of small ways, all the time—but they were far better at living in the now than he was.
He’d needed the time-out more than they had. He’d been
so shattered in those early days, like a shell-shocked soldier, and there had been something undeniably comforting and numbing about the routine of their very limited domestic life—it had become its own form of suspended animation, a holding pattern that they had existed in to get by.
But getting by wasn’t enough, not when he was letting his kids down. They deserved better from him. He needed to move beyond merely surviving.
As impossible as that seemed from where he sat right now.
He looked himself in the eye in the mirror, taking in his shaggy hair and gaunt features and bristly cheeks.
Time did not stand still, and neither could he. Tomorrow, he’d call his partners in the firm and talk to them about returning early. Then he’d start setting his house to rights, both figuratively and literally.
The thought alone was enough to make him feel heavy and overwhelmed.
Damn you, Angie. Why couldn’t you have left me alone?
He already knew the answer—because she was a friend, and because she cared enough to make the tough call, even when she knew her point of view probably wouldn’t be appreciated.
He needed to add apologizing to her to his list of things to do tomorrow.
He finished up then shed his clothes and climbed into bed. Turning onto his side, he closed his eyes. As always as he drifted toward sleep, there was a small, forgetful moment where he slid his hand over to touch Billie’s back, instinctively seeking reassurance as he hovered on the brink.
As always, he found nothing but cold sheets.
A few minutes after that, he fell asleep.
CHAPTER TWO
THE NEXT MORNING FOUND Angie wrestling with the ancient lock on the door to her studio. She pulled the key out, then slid it back in and jiggled it around. After a few tense seconds she felt the latch give and rolled her eyes.
Typical. Like everything else in the Stradbroke building, the mechanism worked just enough to make it difficult to make a case to the landlord to replace it. She locked the door behind her and dropped her bag on the small table and chairs she kept for client meetings, then crossed to the window to let in some fresh air. Next, she pulled on the well-worn leather apron she wore to protect her clothes and hunkered down in front of her safe to open it. Inside were the flat strips of gold, silver and other metals that she used to create the alloys for her pieces, as well as a box containing dozens of small boxes, each of which boasted a selection of diamonds and other gems. She preferred to work with white, champagne and pink diamonds, but she had a small collection of rubies and emeralds and sapphires, as well. This morning she ignored the stones and pulled the gold and silver from the safe. Both the rings for the Merton commission—her first priority this week—were to be made from 18-karat white gold. She checked the design brief she’d created in consultation with Judy and John and did some math to calculate how much she’d need of both palladium and gold to accommodate their ring sizes—an L and S respectively—then turned toward the scales to measure.
Perhaps inevitably, her thoughts turned to Michael and the kids as she worked.
She’d really pissed him off last night with her unsolicited advice.
It was so hard to know what to do. Michael may have been married to Billie for six years, and Angie may have seen him once a week on average during that time, but their friendship had always been grounded in their mutual connection with Billie. Not that Angie didn’t like him in his own right—she did, a lot—but in her mind he was Billie’s husband first and foremost, and then Michael. Just as she suspected she was Billie’s friend first to him, and then herself.
Although maybe that assessment wasn’t strictly true anymore. It had been an intense ten months, after all.
The phone rang, cutting through her thoughts. She leaned to grab the handset.
“Angela speaking.”
“Angie, it’s Michael.”
“Oh. Hi.”
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to bite your head off again. I rang to apologize for last night.”
“You don’t need to apologize.”
“Yeah, I do. I was an ass, and I’m sorry.”
One of the things she’d always liked about Michael was that he didn’t beat around the bush. He was a man of few words, but those he did speak were always worth hearing.
“Apology accepted. Even if it is unnecessary.”
“I thought about what you said, and I spoke to my partners today. They’re keen for me to come back whenever I’m ready.”
“Hey, that’s great. Are you going to take them up on it?”
“I don’t know. I need to sort out child care. But you were right. Sitting around here on my own all day isn’t helping anything.”
She pictured the darkened kitchen and living room and his shaggy hair and too-thin frame.
“It’s hard to get into things again. But life goes on whether we want it to or not. Wrong as it seems.” She hated how trite she sounded.
“Yeah, I know.”
“Have you thought about going back part-time to start with? Maybe three days a week, or something like that? That way both you and the kids would have a chance to get used to you not being around as much.”
“Part-time. I hadn’t thought of that. But there’s no reason why I couldn’t do it, even if it meant I worked from home on the other days.”
“Let’s face it, you’re probably going to do that anyway,” she said drily.
“True. And that would mean I’d only have to find day care for Charlie three days. And work out something for Eva after school.”
She moved to the window, stepping into a shaft of sunlight and letting it warm her skin.
“What about a nanny? I have no idea how much they are, but my friend Gail uses one. She says it’s a godsend.”
“Yeah? I guess it would be worth investigating. I keep hearing that the day-care places around here have waiting lists as long as my arm.”
“I’ll ask where she got hers and text you.”
“Thanks, Angie. I appreciate it.”
There was a humble sincerity to his tone that made her throat tight.
“How would you feel about me coming over on Sunday and taking Eva shopping for her friend’s present?”
It felt like a pitifully small gesture, all things considered, but at least it was practical.
“I would feel eternally grateful. I have no idea what to buy a six-year-old.”
“Neither do I, to be honest, but we can wing it. What say I swing by to pick her up at two on Sunday?”
“She’ll be ready. Thanks, Angie.”
“It helps me, too, you know,” she said quietly. “Being with the kids. Helping you out.”
He was silent for a moment. “Okay.” There was a wealth of understanding in the single word.
“I’ll see you Sunday.”
“You will.”
She ended the call and stepped out of the sunshine.
Michael was going back to the firm. A good decision, she was sure of it. Her work had saved her during the early, hard months. She was sure it would help him find himself again now.
At least, she hoped so.
* * *
THE REMAINDER OF THE WEEK sped by in a blur. Angie worked late every night, keen to make inroads on the commissions that had been waiting while she was in New York. She allowed herself the small luxury of sleeping in on Sunday befo
re catching up with a friend for lunch. It was just after two when she stopped in front of Billie’s house.
She rang the doorbell, then had a horrible moment where she was suddenly convinced that she’d left her phone behind in the café. She fumbled in her handbag. Her fingers closed around her phone’s smooth contours as the front door opened.
“Hey. Right on time,” Michael said.
She glanced up, a lighthearted retort on her lips. The first thing she registered was his new, crisp haircut and the fact that he was clean-shaven. Then her gaze took in his broad chest in a sweat-dampened tank top and the skin-tight black running leggings moulded to his muscular legs. The words died on her lips and she blinked, momentarily stunned by the change in him.
“You’ve cut your hair,” she said stupidly.
“Yeah. Decided it was time to stop doing my Robinson Crusoe impersonation.”
He gestured for her to enter and she brushed past him. He smelled of fresh air and spicy masculine deodorant. He preceded her up the hall and her gaze traveled across his shoulders before dropping to his muscular backside. Billie had often waxed poetic about Michael’s body, but Angie had always made a point of not noticing—she didn’t want to know that kind of stuff. Now, as he stopped at the kitchen counter, she was forcibly reminded of the fact that he was a very attractive man.
For a moment she didn’t quite know where to look.
“Is, um, Eva ready to go? I thought I’d take her to Chadstone,” she said, naming Melbourne’s biggest shopping center. Her gaze skittered uneasily around the room. It was only then that she noticed the other changes—the kitchen was clean, not a single dirty bowl or plate in sight, and the dining table had been polished to a shine. True, a small stack of neatly folded washing sat at one end, but it looked like a temporary measure this time rather than a permanent fixture. The living room had been cleared of stray books and magazines and abandoned clothes, the cushions on the couch plumped.
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