Lost Without You
Rachael Johns
www.harlequinbooks.com.au
About the Author
RACHAEL JOHNS, an English teacher by trade and a mum 24/7, is the bestselling ABIA-winning author of The Patterson Girls and a number of other romance and women’s fiction books including The Art of Keeping Secrets and The Greatest Gift. She is currently Australia’s leading writer of contemporary relationship stories around women’s issues, a genre she has coined ‘life-lit’. Rachael lives in the Perth hills with her hyperactive husband, three mostly-gorgeous heroes-in-training and a very badly behaved dog. She rarely sleeps and never irons.
Also by Rachael Johns:
Man Drought
Talk of the Town
The Hope Junction novels
Jilted
The Road to Hope
The Bunyip Bay novels
Outback Dreams
Outback Blaze
Outback Ghost
Outback Sisters
The Kissing Season (e-novella)
The Next Season (e-novella)
Secret Confessions Down and Dusty:
Casey (e-novella)
The Patterson Girls
The Art of Keeping Secrets
The Greatest Gift
In memory of a very special lady – Alison (Aley) Paine 1983–2017
A man is lucky if he is the first love of a woman.
A woman is lucky if she is the last love of a man.
Contents
About the Author
Also by Rachael Johns
June
Rebecca
Clara
Josie
paige
Clara
Josie
Rebecca
Paige
Clara
July
Josie
Rebecca
Paige
Josie
Clara
Paige
Rebecca
Josie
Clara
August
Rebecca
Josie
Paige
Clara
Josie
Rebecca
Clara
Paige
Rebecca
Clara
Josie
September
Rebecca
Clara
Rebecca
Paige
Rebecca
Josie
Paige
Clara
Josie
Rebecca
Paige
Clara
Rebecca
Josie
Paige
Josie
Rebecca
Clara
Paige
Josie
Epilogue
Author Note
Acknowledgements
Book Club Questions
June
Rebecca
No periods, no childbirth and no menopause!
Men have it so much easier than women, thought Rebecca MacRitchie as she stepped out of the shower, grabbed a towel, wrapped it around herself and glared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror.
Take her husband, Hugh, for instance. Although thirteen years her senior, his grey hair made him look distinguished; all hers did was keep her hairdresser in designer dresses. Her daughter, Paige, had tried to reassure her that grey hair was all the rage—apparently some young women were actually dyeing their hair silver. It was nonsensical! Surely they’d be regretting that decision later when their first actual grey hair sprouted on their head.
Young women and all men, none of them knew how lucky they were.
Geez, Rebecca, you sound like you’re ninety, not fifty.
But it was true. Following a quick shower, Hugh had thrown on his black dinner suit without much fuss and was currently downstairs, no doubt with his feet up in front of the TV watching sport on Foxtel. Whereas a shower was only the beginning of Rebecca’s preparation.
She still had to blow-dry her hair, carefully apply her make-up to hide her ever-increasing multitude of wrinkles and pick out a dress that didn’t accentuate her middle-aged spread. Normally Rebecca loved nothing better than dressing up, but tonight she was weary and everything simply felt like too much effort.
‘Pull yourself together,’ she told her reflection. If any night required her best effort this was it!
A shot of excitement fizzed through her at the prospect of what was to come. Tonight was Paige’s big night and Rebecca wasn’t about to let the odd hot flush or a little bit of dizziness ruin it for either of them. She’d down a cocktail of Berocca and Panadol before they left and she’d be fine.
Forcing herself out of the en suite and into the bedroom, she chose an eighties playlist on Spotify and put her phone on the speaker dock beside the bed. Her favourite tunes from her teenage years never failed to lift her spirits and would surely help get her out of the funk she’d been in these last few days.
Molly, their black labrador, who’d been lazing on the floor by the bed, looked up briefly as Cindi Lauper’s voice filled the air, then promptly dropped her head back onto her paws.
‘You don’t know how easy your life is,’ Rebecca told her as she went to select some underwear. She rubbed the towel over her body, trying not to think about how soft it was nowadays. Hugh said there was just more of her to cuddle and he’d love her even if she grew to three times her current size, but that didn’t make her feel any better. Discarding the towel on the end of the bed, she pulled on a pair of lace knickers—feel-good underwear had always been important to her. But when she reached for the matching bra, she realised her dress would dictate which bra she could wear and she still hadn’t decided on her outfit.
Bugger it. With a sigh, she went into her walk-in robe and stared at the row of outfits. Did tonight’s celebration call for ruffles or lace? Soft florals or bright prints? Something flowing or something fitted? A dress or a jumpsuit? Usually Rebecca dressed according to mood—one day she’d be a pencil-skirt-and-heels kind of woman, the next day she’d look completely bohemian in colourful floor-length dresses, boots and long, dangly earrings. Hugh would laugh if she told him she had nothing to wear, but the problem tonight was she couldn’t quite put her finger on how she felt. She berated herself for leaving this important decision to the last minute—Paige’s book launch had been scheduled for months. But then again, until a couple of days ago, Rebecca hadn’t known that the launch wouldn’t be the only thing they were celebrating.
She smiled at the recollection of Solomon arriving on their doorstep, looking handsome as always but rubbing the back of his neck and blinking as if agitated.
‘What a lovely surprise,’ she’d said to her daughter’s boyfriend as she’d opened the door. But then she’d noticed his worried expression and her heart had slammed up to her throat. ‘Oh, Sol, is everything okay?’
For a moment she’d feared something had happened to Paige.
He nodded rapidly. ‘Yes. I mean, I think so. I hope so. Can I come in?’
‘Of course. You know you’re always welcome here.’ Rebecca pulled him into a hug and then ushered him inside. ‘Can I get you a drink? A beer? Coffee? Milo?’
At that point Hugh had poked his head into the hallway from the living room. ‘Sol, mate. Good to see you. Is Paige with you?’
‘Uh … no. She’s … um …’ Solomon, always confident and well spoken, seemed at a loss for words.
‘She’s teaching one of her art classes tonight, honey,’ Rebecca informed her husband.
‘Right. Well, to what do we owe the pleasure?’ Hugh liked Solomon too—occasionally the two of them went to a footy game together, thankfully they both barracked for the Swans—but those
occasions were always prearranged and Rebecca couldn’t remember another time Sol had arrived on their doorstep unannounced and without their daughter.
Solomon shoved his hands into his pockets and cleared his throat. ‘I know Paige and I haven’t been going out for that long …’
‘Haven’t you?’ Hugh frowned. ‘Feels like a bloody long time to me.’
Rebecca smiled. ‘Almost two years.’
Solomon nodded. ‘And I know I’m a bit older than her.’
‘Only a few years,’ Rebecca said.
This time Hugh chuckled. ‘I’m thirteen years older than Rebecca and we’ve done alright. Haven’t we, love?’
‘Let the boy speak,’ she said tersely, her heart suddenly light and impatient as she guessed what Solomon was about to say. Or rather ask.
‘Well, the bottom line is, you know how much I adore your daughter. She’s my best friend and also my …’ Solomon paused a moment. ‘Well, the absolute best person I know. I want to marry her and I was hoping you’d give us your blessing?’
Rebecca had burst into tears—happy ones—and yanked Solomon into another hug. Of course the answer was yes—not that she believed he needed their permission, but she couldn’t help thinking it sweet that he’d come seeking it.
Within seconds she felt Hugh wrapping his arms around them both and when he spoke, she could tell he was all choked up as well. ‘I didn’t think blokes still came to the parents first, but I appreciate you thinking of us, Sol.’
Solomon let out a relieved chuckle and the three of them disentangled. ‘She might not say yes.’ But his big grin told them he was positive she would.
And Rebecca was confident too. Until Solomon, Paige hadn’t had any serious relationships. Although there’d been plenty of boys chasing her, she was far more interested in pursuing her art and going in to bat for the disadvantaged, but from the moment Paige met Sol, she was a goner. They were perfect together—not only did they make a striking couple but they shared the same values, made each other laugh and you only had to look at them to see the chemistry between them.
Rebecca could always tell when they’d just had sex—it took a good while after for Paige’s post-coital glow to diminish—and she felt such satisfaction and contentment that her daughter had a beautiful sex life. She supposed most mothers didn’t like thinking about their daughters doing the horizontal mambo. Her own would have preferred she’d stayed a virgin until she was thirty-five.
But finding someone you were both intellectually and sexually compatible with was like winning the relationship lottery. Rebecca felt confident Paige and Sol had all the ingredients for a successful, happy life together and she couldn’t help being excited at the prospect of a wedding. There’d be so much to organise; Paige would look stunning in practically any style of dress, but what fun they’d have together searching for one.
At the thought of a dress, Rebecca remembered why she was standing in her walk-in robe practically naked. She needed to get a move on or they’d be late.
Finally, she picked out two dresses and laid them out on the bed. One was a black lace knee-length number—the menopausal woman’s equivalent of a little black dress—and the other, a maxi dress, in all the colours of the rainbow. But which one would work better tonight? The bright multi-coloured gown was fun and would suit the occasion but she didn’t want to draw too much attention to herself when it wasn’t her night. The black dress might be better, but then again, she didn’t want to look like she was going to a funeral.
Why is this so difficult?
She fought a yawn and, although excited for the evening ahead, couldn’t help thinking how welcoming her bed looked. It was not even six o’clock and already she was struggling to keep her eyes open.
At the sound of Hugh whistling as he padded up the stairs, she snatched her towel back off the end of the bed and covered her nakedness. The last thing she needed right now was him getting frisky.
‘You almost ready, honey?’ he asked as he appeared in the doorway.
She gestured to the bed. ‘I can’t decide between these two dresses.’
Hugh frowned as he looked from black to rainbow and back again. ‘They’re both nice.’
‘Nice? I want to look more than bloody nice. Tonight is important. It’s not every night your daughter gets engaged.’
‘Or launches a book.’ Hugh winked, then took a step towards her and put a hand against her arm. ‘Are you okay? You look a little off-colour.’
Truth was, Rebecca hadn’t been feeling herself for a few weeks now; she’d been off her food—very unlike her—and had found herself short of breath every time she trekked upstairs. ‘I’m just tired.’
‘Perhaps you need to slow down a little. Cut back on your charity work or reduce your number of students. And maybe you should go see a doctor, you might be low on iron or something.’
‘I like being busy. But I’m going to make an appointment with Dr Bell next week. I think I might be menopausal.’
‘Ah.’ Hugh’s lips slowly curved into a smile and he nodded. ‘That makes sense.’
It might make sense but it didn’t mean she had to like it. ‘It’s not funny. I’ll probably turn into a nightmare to live with. Hot flushes, mood swings, you’re in for a real treat.’
‘I’m sure I’ll cope.’ He dropped a kiss on her forehead. ‘Now, is there anything I can do to help you get ready? We don’t want to be late. Just think, when Paige and Sol get married, we’ll finally have the son we always wanted.’
At his words, Rebecca’s stomach quivered uncomfortably and she thought of the son she could have had. Hugh would have liked a house full of children, but Rebecca hadn’t done pregnancy or early motherhood well. Being pregnant, going through almost twenty-four hours of back-breaking labour with Paige had awakened painful memories and led to postpartum depression.
She couldn’t bear the prospect of going through all that again, so had decided against any more children.
‘Yes.’ Rebecca focused once again on the present as she forced a smile for her husband. ‘I’m so happy for Paige and Solomon. You choose which dress, I’ll quickly do my hair and make-up, and then, let’s get this show on the road.’
Clara
As Clarabel Jones curled the ribbon on the present she’d just wrapped for her niece’s twenty-first birthday, her mobile rang. Her hand stilled and her heart squeezed as she stared at the device like it were a ticking bomb. Even without glancing at the screen, she knew who it would be. Almost two years since their divorce and Rob still hadn’t got the message she didn’t want him in her life anymore.
With a heavy sigh, she put down the scissors and abandoned the present. If she didn’t answer he’d only try again, or worse, show up on her doorstep. The hairs on the back of her neck rose and she turned slowly towards the front of the house they’d shared for almost twenty-five years as if he were already standing there banging on the front door for her to let him in. Today, tonight, was hard enough as it was.
A tear for what could have been slid down her cheek and she swiped at it angrily as she snatched up the phone. ‘Hello, Rob.’
‘I didn’t see you at the cemetery today,’ he slurred, already obviously liquored up.
‘I went yesterday.’ Even as she said this she was annoyed at herself for feeling the need to justify herself. All these years later her heart was still in pieces, and she didn’t need him making her feel worse.
‘I see.’ Was that judgement in his tone? ‘How are you?’
How do you think I am?
She took a deep breath. ‘I’m fine, Rob. What about you? How’s your mother?’
‘Can I come round? You’re the only one who truly understands about Laura. We should be together today of all days.’
At the hurt evident in his voice, she felt herself breaking, her resolve wavering. There were times in the past when they had managed to comfort each other through the grief. Times when she’d thought maybe their marriage had a chance of recovering, of surv
iving. After all, who could possibly understand her heartbreak better than him?
But those times were rare and more often than not he’d turned to a bottle instead. He was going to end up one of those sad, lonely old men who lived on cereal and biscuits (or worse, tinned pet food) and who stunk of body odour because no one ever reminded them to have a shower. Her heart squeezed at the thought, but Rob wasn’t her responsibility anymore.
She couldn’t, she wouldn’t, give in to the guilt.
‘No, you can’t. I’m going out, but even if I wasn’t, you wouldn’t be welcome here. You need to stop calling me, Rob. I don’t want you in my life anymore.’
Silence greeted her declaration. She wondered if he’d finally get the message or if tomorrow he’d have forgotten this conversation.
‘Where are you going?’ he asked eventually.
She should have hung up, but she’d always found cruelty difficult. ‘It’s Aoifa’s twenty-first birthday so I’m going out to celebrate.’
She waited for the snide remark—about how she could possibly go to a party today of all days—but it didn’t come.
‘Where is it?’
‘Oh, some restaurant in the city,’ she lied, because she wouldn’t put it past him turning up off his trolley and ruining Aoifa’s big birthday bash.
‘Say happy birthday to her for me then.’ His words didn’t sound sarcastic but sometimes it was hard to tell.
‘I will. Thank you. Now, I’m sorry but I’ve got to go.’
‘Can I call you later?’
‘No. Goodbye, Rob.’ And then she disconnected the call.
As Clara went back to garnishing the present, she glanced longingly into the living room at the TV. The urge to curl up on the couch and watch some mindless movie was strong—and no one would blame her if she did—but she knew she’d feel better if she went out. Besides, she loved her niece dearly and wanted to celebrate her birthday with the rest of her family.
It wasn’t Aoifa’s fault she shared her birthday with the anniversary of her cousin’s death.
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