‘I don’t want you to come to the funeral.’
‘Why not?’ She planted her hands on her hips.
‘He doesn’t deserve to have you there, Ellie.’ Col stood up and walked to the dining table where his outfit was laid out.
‘I’m not going for him. I’m going for you.’
Col pulled on his shirt, taking his time to do the buttons up. He stepped into the trousers of the suit and immediately felt restricted. He hated wearing a suit and tie; it made him feel chained, controlled. But he was unlikely to feel comfortable at any part of today anyway. The suit was going to be the least of his discomfort.
‘I said I’m going for you, Col.’ She said his name emphatically. ‘I care about you.’
He paused and looked at her, searching her face for any sign that she might be about to open up. She looked as though she was about to say something but her mouth snapped shut.
‘How do you care about me? Do you care about me like a brother, a friend...?’
Her breath hitched but she said nothing. It was déjà vu all over again: he was asking her to clarify how she felt about him and she was staying silent. Did she feel anything at all for him beyond what she felt for her family? Or was he just a close friend who she happened to have slept with?
‘How? I need to know.’
‘Why are you doing this, Col?’ She shook her head, turning away from him. ‘You know I’m not good at this.’
‘Because I deserve to know.’ He swallowed and the words spilled forth as if something inside had broken and everything he’d ever felt was suddenly accessible and free flowing. ‘I love you, Ellie, and I can’t take not knowing if you love me back.’
She turned to him, face pale, and for the first time he’d seen her beautiful features twisted into anguish. He’d seen behind her mask; he’d pushed her until she’d shown him something real. In a second her face was stoic again, her lips pressed together as she gathered herself.
‘I love you as a friend, Col. That’s all I can give and I don’t want to promise you more.’
He reached for his tie and slipped it around his neck, tightening it like a noose. At least now he knew, he could move on with his life and put the Johnson family behind him for good.
‘It’s best if you leave now.’
‘Col—’
‘I’ll call downstairs and order you a taxi.’
He continued dressing himself, bending down to pull on his dress socks and a pair of expensive leather dress shoes he hardly ever wore. She stood there for a moment, rooted to the ground as if in silent protest. But, as usual, no words came. The loss of her burned before she’d even vacated his hotel room. Looked as if he would be grieving today after all.
He stood, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt while watching her from the corner of his eye. Was it his imagination or did a tear pool in her eye. No, impossible. Elise Johnson didn’t do tears.
* * *
By the time the taxi dropped Elise off she was fuming. After the initial shock of finding out that Col loved her had worn off, she was downright miffed. He’d known what her upbringing was like—he’d been there for half of it! Didn’t he know that throwing your emotions out there for the world to see was dangerous? Wasn’t that the very reason he’d been so poorly treated by his father...because the man hadn’t been able to control his emotions?
Stomping up to the front door, she cursed under her breath. What was he thinking coming out and telling her that he loved her? She flung the front door open and let out a frustrated huff.
‘Ellie?’
Her mother’s voice wafted through the house along with the scent of something baking in the oven. The scent hit her with force; she knew it from a very long time ago. Anzac cookies—her mother was baking the oaty, golden syrupy treats of her childhood.
‘Mum? What’s going on?’
She came through to the kitchen to find her mother standing at the sink wearing her pink and white striped apron. Her hair was pulled into a ponytail; her eyes looked clearer than their usual bloodshot state. Was that humming she could hear?
‘I know we usually go out for our weekly morning tea but I had a sudden urge to bake.’ Her mother’s voice was soft, hopeful.
‘That’s great. I always loved your Anzac cookies.’ She dropped her bag onto the breakfast bar and hovered at the edge of the kitchen.
‘Tea?’ Her mother held up the kettle and Elise nodded.
‘What’s brought all this on?’ Something had definitely shifted. It had been years since her mother had baked. It seemed like eons since she’d smiled.
Darlene drew a deep breath. ‘I’ve started seeing someone.’
A rock hardened in the pit of Elise’s stomach. How was it possible her mother had started seeing someone when she never left the house? Had she met some creep online? Myriad scenarios swirled in her mind.
‘Not like that,’ Darlene said. ‘I’ve started seeing a psychologist, someone who specialises in treating members of the police force...ex-members in my case.’
‘But I thought you hated talking about what happened to Dad.’
Her mother had not only shunned the court-appointed psychologist after her Internal Affairs hearing, but she’d avoided every offer of help from the police chief, her colleagues, family and friends. Eventually the offers dried up and she even managed to drive her own son away. Elise had stuck by her, but they had not once discussed the events that led to her father’s death.
‘It’s uncomfortable for me, yes.’ Darlene nodded. ‘But I’m sick of feeling like this. Every day is a struggle and I think after five years it’s about time I got back on my feet.’
Elise swallowed, a strange sensation ebbing through her. This was the most productive thing her mother had ever said. Hope blossomed in Elise’s chest. Maybe she could be saved.
‘How many sessions have you had?’
‘Only four, but I’m going every week.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
The oven timer beeped and Darlene went to the oven, pulling out the tray of golden cookies and placing them on a cutting board. She untied the back of her apron and hung it on the hook next to the stove. Elise watched her slow, precise movements.
‘Why, Mum?’
Darlene came over to her and enveloped her in a hug. Her bony arms wrapped around Elise with the urgency of someone who hadn’t been held in a long time. After a moment of stunned immobility, Elise hugged her back. When was the last time they hugged?
‘I was worried I wouldn’t do well and I didn’t want to fail you again. This isn’t the first time I’ve tried.’
‘Really?’ Elise pulled back, surprised.
‘I tried about a year after...’ She trailed off. ‘Then again about twelve months ago. But I quit after two sessions. I was worried this time would be the same.’
‘And?’
‘I hope it’s going to be different this time. I still have down days, but the sessions give me some relief.’ Darlene stroked her daughter’s hair. ‘I know your father and I weren’t very demonstrative while you and Rich were growing up but we loved you both very much. We wanted you to be strong and independent... I guess we thought that by being so tough on you it would make you that way.’
Tears pricked in Elise’s eyes and out of instinct she blinked furiously to make them go away. It was the closest she’d come to crying in...she couldn’t even remember how long.
‘I regret not being more open with you and Rich,’ Darlene continued. ‘But it’s not too late to start, is it?’
‘No, it’s not too late.’ Elise looked into the grey eyes that were identical to her own. ‘I’m so glad you’re getting help.’
‘Me too, baby. It’s taken me a long time but I’ve realised that sometimes we need another person to help us change for the better.
’
Elise’s mind flickered to Col and his stubborn way of prodding her with questions. She’d resented him this morning, asking her to open up, to put herself way out of her comfort zone. He’d always done that, always challenged her, teased her, fought for her. She frowned.
‘What’s wrong? Have I upset you?’ Darlene’s concern brought her back to the present.
‘It’s nothing.’ She plastered a bright smile on her face before she realised the irony of the situation. Here her mother was, after all the years, opening up and putting herself out there while Elise acted the same way she always did. ‘Actually, there is something.’
Darlene released her, put a few cookies on a plate and brought it with the teapot to the kitchen table, where fresh irises sat in a fluted vase. Her mother must have brought them with her. Elise grabbed two teacups from the cupboard.
‘Tell me.’
‘Col is back in Australia at the moment.’
Darlene nodded. ‘Yes, I know that.’
Elise’s eyebrows shot up. ‘How?’
‘I got a call from your brother last night.’
Ah. Elise poured the tea and waited for her mother to continue.
‘I gave him a good talking-to. He had no right to interfere with you and Col. That boy was always infatuated by you, you know.’
‘Really?’
‘Rich came to me when we took him in, said he was worried about Col being around you. But I trusted him. His father might have been a drunk but I know a good soul when I see one. Couldn’t have been a police officer for so long without being able to pick the bad eggs from the good.’ She smiled. ‘He cared about you very much, always stuck up for you when you and your brother fought.’
‘He did, didn’t he?’ For once a happy memory came to her, not the one of Col with bruises but the times that he’d stepped between her and Rich when an argument sprouted. He was always her protector.
‘And he always used to take you to your ballet lessons. He claimed it was because he wanted to pitch in, but I knew it was more than that.’ She sipped her tea. ‘Why is he here?’
‘Arthur’s funeral is today.’
‘And you’re not going?’ The old Darlene was back for a moment, all narrowed brows and pursed lips.
‘I wanted to go but he said Arthur didn’t deserve to have me there.’ She swallowed. ‘And I think I upset him.’
‘How?’
‘He told me he loved me.’ She swiped a cookie, eager for something to distract her from the foreign feelings swirling. Her voice sounded strange, high pitched and unnatural. Perhaps this was what it sounded like to open up to someone.
‘And...’
‘And I told him I couldn’t give him what he wanted.’
‘Do you love him?’
The question rendered her mute. Self-protection was her instinct, her go-to move. But the ache in her chest was building; the pressure from holding her feelings in a tight, unreachable bundle was getting too much to bear.
‘Love is not as confusing as people make it out to be.’ Darlene gave a small smile.
Elise let out a shaky breath and traced the floral pattern of her china teacup with her finger. ‘It’s scary.’
‘If it’s scary then it means you care about him.’
‘I do.’ Her voice was barely above a whisper.
Was it possible that she’d loved Col all along and never allowed herself to see it? She remembered when he first walked into her studio a week ago. She’d wanted to scream at him for leaving her; she’d been appalled at how he could turn up without warning. But there had also been a tiny bubble in her chest, a delicate construct of hope and relief that had threatened to burst at the slightest provocation.
Except he hadn’t burst it. He’d drawn her to him over and over, showing her that she could be intimate, showing her that she could help others, that she could talk about the past. No one else had ever been able to get so close, nor had anyone else continued to try after her constant rejection. He matched her in stubbornness and strength of will, but he also knew when to push her, when to hold her, when to comfort her.
‘You know the answer to whether or not you love him, Ellie.’ Darlene reached out and grabbed her daughter’s hand, squeezing it tight. ‘I want you to be happy. You deserve it—you’ve earned it for all you’ve done for our family.’
‘I love you, Mum.’ Her voice shook. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d told anyone that she loved them—even her mother.
‘I love you too.’
After Darlene left, Elise sat at the kitchen table as if she didn’t have the strength left to move. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been sitting there, but when she looked up the sun was starting to dip.
Only then did the enormity of her situation hit her. Col would be leaving for good. He was flying out tomorrow and she’d hurt him good enough that he was unlikely to come back for seconds...or thirds as the case might be. Hell, if his father hadn’t died he might not have come back this time.
Her stomach churned. Never again would she wake up to his blue eyes, never again would she lose herself in his kiss, under the deft touch of his hands. But it was best for them both.
She loved him. When it’d happened she couldn’t exactly pinpoint, but that strange churning sensation in her stomach that occurred whenever he was near finally had a name. She loved him and she’d let him go because she couldn’t bear the thought of him waking up one morning in the future only to realise how broken she was.
It might happen after a fight, where he expected to talk about it. It could happen after a loss, where she’d be expected to show her sadness or vulnerability. What if they one day had a child and she was incapable of showing the love needed to nurture a young soul into life?
Her inadequacy was insurmountable; it filled her up and swallowed her feelings, hardening her to stone. He didn’t deserve to end up with someone like her; he deserved better—someone who could love with all the unbridled passion and fury of a normal person.
Her eyes prickled and she ground her fists into them, surprised when they came away slicked with moisture. A fat tear fell onto her cheek and another followed, creating a path down to her jaw.
She rushed to the bathroom, shocked to see her face with eyes red-rimmed and cheeks glistening. She hadn’t even cried at her father’s funeral. She’d not shed a single tear, but now it was as if every tear she’d ever saved up was ready to be used. They spilled forth, unstoppable.
Her chest heaved with each sob, grief squeezing, pressing, aching within her. Suddenly the laughter came. It bubbled up until the tinkling sound filled the air. She was actually crying, something she had tried to do for so many years just to see if she could. But no matter how many times she watched The Notebook, Beaches or Steel Magnolias she could never even well up, let alone create a tear.
But the thought of letting Col go was enough to finally push her to the edge. In the past week he’d pushed her more than any other person, definitely more than the men she dated who were quick to label her faults and file her under ‘too much effort’. And he’d certainly pushed her more than her parents.
Could she really give up the chance that maybe he could help her experience the full gamut of emotion?
He’d be arriving at the hotel soon and she had until tomorrow morning to convince him she’d been wrong. Scrap that—she had all night to show him.
TWELVE
After the funeral Col stood in the dimming sunlight. The air was still heavy as a blanket over him. He sweltered in his suit, but he refused to loosen his tie. His father’s girlfriend and a handful of scruffy-looking men in their fifties had been the only guests present. There were less than ten people total who’d shown up to mourn the life of Arthur Hill. Less than ten too many.
The already lean crowd thinned until it was just Co
l and the man who’d conducted the simple, non-religious service. They didn’t speak, but instead stood next to one another lost in their own thoughts.
‘Excuse me?’
A voice captured his attention and he turned to see the journalist from the conference with her camera man approaching. What the hell were they doing here?
‘I’m Marina Shepard and I was wondering if I can ask you a few questions?’ Her question posed as a statement, an introduction to the questions she was about to ask without waiting for permission.
‘I don’t do interviews,’ Col said sharply. ‘Particularly not at funerals.’
The journalist ignored him and stuck her recorder in Col’s face. ‘Is it true that you’re the son of Arthur Hill?’
‘No comment.’
‘I understand Arthur was convicted of insurance fraud several years ago. How do you think that information would affect your shareholders?’
‘I said, no comment.’ His voice was a low, threatening growl.
He forced himself to stare straight ahead, fearing what he might do if he were to make eye contact with her.
‘There’s no need to be hostile,’ she said, her tone indicating she enjoyed this part of her job very much. ‘The people deserve to know the truth.’
‘About a man who may or may not be related to some unknown person who died? How on earth is that something the people need to know?’
‘I think you need to leave.’ The man who’d conducted his father’s service stepped in between them. ‘This is very inappropriate.’
‘I’m sure the shareholders of Hillam Technologies would like to understand the foundations on which the company was built. Arthur Hill was convicted of many crimes, as I’m sure you are aware, and one of those was insurance fraud. Don’t you think the shareholders deserve to know that?’
Col turned and walked towards his car, his long legs crossing the plush green grass easily. But she would not be deterred.
‘Mr Hillam!’ The journalist was on his heels. ‘Isn’t that why you changed your name so no one would know the connection?’
Breaking the Bro Code Page 14
