That could have been her with Benedict and a family. If it hadn’t been for that night, if it hadn’t been for Tom Hanlon… She’d had plenty of nights to mourn about it, to get angry, to try to rewrite history. She truly had come to terms with it, she thought. Either that or done a good job convincing herself that it had been her choice not to have children.
And, thank God, she had Maggie. Maggie had made the knowledge that she would never have her own child easier to come to terms with. She’d known Maggie all her life. She’d been at the hospital when she was born. She’d watched her learn to walk, talk, climb, swim, read, count. She’d watched her go off to her first day of school. She’d cheered her on at dozens of maths competitions. She’d helped her get ready for her first high-school dance. She’d comforted her when she had her first unrequited crush, attended her university graduation ceremonies, and even wept openly – to the rest of her family’s surprise – when Maggie received the student of the year award. Miranda had been part of every milestone of Maggie’s life.
All the good parts of motherhood with none of the bad parts. That’s what she told herself whenever she found herself feeling sad. Whenever the sight of a mother and daughter together gave her a sudden, painful ache deep inside. Whenever she stopped moving long enough to ask herself, What would my daughter have been like? Or would I have had a son? Two sons? Three of each? What kind of mother would I have been?
It was a strange kind of consolation that Juliet and Eliza had never had children either. Not that the three of them ever sat around declaring, ‘Isn’t it wonderful to be childless!’ Miranda knew Juliet and Myles had tried for years, going down the IVF route, for at least six cycles, as far as Miranda knew. She had quickly learned not to ask Juliet about it, after Juliet had turned on her one afternoon in Sydney. ‘It’s all right for you, Miss Bloody Glamour Queen who never wanted children anyway. Well, I did, Miranda. I longed for them. So mind your own bloody business because you will never, ever know how it feels to want something so badly and know you will never be able to have it.’
There had been a moment, a split-second, when Miranda had nearly told her that yes, actually, she did know how that felt. But Myles had come in and Juliet had clammed up. Miranda had never spoken about it with Juliet again.
As for Eliza, who knew whether or not she wanted children? As far as Miranda knew, Eliza had never even had a long-term relationship. Nor had she ever expressed interest in children. Perhaps if she hadn’t had that accident, things might have been different. Miranda wondered whether Eliza was even able to have children after the trauma her body had gone through. It wasn’t the sort of question you asked Eliza. She had a way of setting her jaw and making her face go very still that quickly put a halt to any personal questions. Miranda wasn’t surprised she’d made such a success of her life-coaching business. Her clients were probably terrified of her.
And Sadie? Miranda allowed herself a moment to think about her. Was she happily living in the suburbs somewhere, a dozen children gambolling around her, like the Old Woman Who Lived in the Shoe? The proud mother of triplet boys? The devoted carer of adopted children, perhaps? Or so traumatised by the events of twenty years ago that children were the last thing on her mind?
The man in the seat beside her moved and she caught a faint scent of a very expensive aftershave. It was one of her favourite male fragrances. She’d had enough introspection for one flight, she decided.
She turned and gave him her most engaging smile. ‘So, tell me, are you travelling for business or pleasure?’
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The lights were low. Soft music was playing in the background. Though they were by the sea, there was no sea view. Eliza had compensated by decorating the room with seascapes and painting the walls a soothing light blue.
She waited as the man across from her searched for the right words. ‘It’s not that I don’t love her. Of course I do.’
‘So what’s stopping you, do you think?’
‘It’s the idea of committing.’ He gave a grin. Eliza imagined it having quite some effect on women through the years. ‘The thought that I won’t ever sleep with another woman in my life again.’
The clock behind her gave a subtle buzz. ‘Richard, that’s our time up this week. If you feel like you need to talk about it some more, please make an appointment outside.’
‘Thanks, Eliza.’
‘You’re welcome.’ She stood up, doing her best to hide her wince as her leg protested at the movement.
She took the ten minutes between appointments to check her emails. There was one from Leo, sent from his Blackberry.
Have just spoken to Juliet and heard the news. If it’s a matter of money, you only have to ask.
She wrote the reply without thinking, knowing she would never send it.
No it’s not about money. It’s about wanting to stay sane.
What if she kept writing?
I always hated the July Christmases. If Maggie was there I could just about bear it, but why would I want to put myself through it otherwise? A 26-hour flight from Australia, another flight from London to Belfast, a two-hour drive, seven nights in an uncomfortable bed in a room with rattling windows, more food than is healthy because Juliet can’t stop cooking, tension in the air because Miranda can’t stop fighting with her, Sadie the elephant in the room that none of us mention, you stringing us along with tales of delays in that big jackpot payment to keep us coming back year after year. It sounds like the tenth circle of hell to me.
For a moment she was tempted to send it. Her secretary’s soft voice on the intercom stopped her. She pressed delete and cleared the screen.
Her second appointment for the day was a woman around her own age, late forties. Eliza reviewed her case file, then asked the woman to tell her what had happened since their last appointment. Had she started looking for a new job? Begun the exercise program as part of her goal to lose a stone before her fiftieth birthday? Stopped cleaning up after her teenage son?
The woman admitted she hadn’t done any of those things.
‘Katherine, it’s your choice. It’s your life. You can make things happen or not happen.’
‘It just overwhelms me sometimes.’
Life coach or a psychologist? It was a thin line sometimes, Eliza thought. ‘That’s why it’s important to break it down into manageable-size pieces.’
‘You’re my role model, you know,’ the woman said, energised. ‘You have it all. Independence. Your own business. And I know it hasn’t been easy for you. Your secretary was telling me all about your accident, how you had to start from scratch after that, but look at you now —’
‘Let’s talk about you, not me.’
She finally left the office at six p.m. She’d had a quiet word with her secretary, told her firmly that her job was to be a secret-keeper, not a secret-sharer.
In her car at the traffic lights, Eliza checked her mobile phone again. No message yet. As she watched, it started to ring. She smiled. He was nothing if not punctual.
‘Eliza.’
‘Mark.’
‘Does now suit?’
‘Perfectly,’ Eliza said. ‘See you soon.’
He was first to her apartment, in the kitchen pouring them both a glass of wine by the time she arrived. ‘How was your day?’ she asked.
‘Better now. Come here.’
She knew exactly what he liked. He knew exactly what she liked. Slow kissing in the living room, clothes being removed in the hallway, naked in the bedroom. She arched up against him, feeling his body weight on her, running her hands down his back, feeling his fingers stroke her thighs, higher. Afterwards, she lay with her head on his chest, idly playing with the hair there. He stroked her skin too, her back, her thighs, not hesitating when her skin changed in texture, the marks still visible even all these years later.
She had long ago stopped being self-conscious about the scars. He said he barely noticed them. She had never told him as much, but she was grateful to
them. If it hadn’t been for the accident that gave her the scars, she and Mark would never have made up. They wouldn’t still be together now.
They had managed to live in Melbourne for more than eight years without bumping into each other. She had known where he was, of course, and exactly what he was doing, as he had known about her. The fitness industry in Melbourne was small enough then for it to be easy to keep tabs on one another. He’d had a head start on her, of course, setting up his training company, exactly as they’d discussed. In the early months, she’d begun to have doubts. The fire of getting her revenge on him by building a more successful business ebbed sometimes. It had been harder than she expected, arriving in a new city, putting all the theory she’d learned into practice.
They had seen each other just once, at an industry function, five years after she moved to Melbourne. The woman she was with had waved across at him.
‘Mark’s from Tasmania too. Do you know him?’
‘No,’ Eliza had said, quickly turning away, her heart thumping.
There was room for both of them, it turned out. Mark concentrated on sporting teams, devising fitness regimes. In sports-mad Melbourne, he found plenty of clients.
Eliza targeted female executives. ‘Healthy body: Successful mind’ was her slogan. She offered one-on-one training, in-home sessions and nutrition advice. She lived the life her clients lived – up at six, finishing at nine. She watched other women juggling work commitments, family responsibilities, society’s expectations, wanting the impossible – a perfect body, perfect relationship, perfect job, perfect family life. As she jogged alongside her clients, she heard tales of exhaustion and organisational hell. In the gym with other clients, she watched them strain to reach personal goals, heard talk about glass ceilings and male-dominated workplaces. As she helped their bodies get stronger and fitter, she learned more about the business world than she had in any of her courses at university.
Her family life was different to her clients, though. She rarely saw Miranda, even though they lived in the same city. Miranda was always too busy. Eliza went back to Hobart twice a year, for each Christmas celebration. It was enough. It was so different there these days, with only Leo, Clementine and Maggie at home. Maggie came to stay with her in Melbourne once a year, sometimes for a fortnight, sometimes longer, depending on Clementine’s schedule. Eliza always enjoyed those times. Maggie hadn’t ever been a needy child or a sullen teenager. You could talk to her. She knew how to be quiet. She was interested in the world. She also had a lovely sense of humour. Miranda had claimed credit for that, of course.
‘That’s just how it’s worked out,’ she’d said in her annoying, theatrical way. ‘We’ve each played a part in moulding Maggie, passing on our own gifts to her. Leo and Clementine have made her clever; Juliet’s taught her to cook; Eliza has taught her about fitness and self-discipline; and I have taught her to be wonderful.’
Eliza was driving back from Tullamarine Airport after dropping the then-thirteen-year-old Maggie off for a flight back to Hobart when it happened. A wet road, bad driving conditions; there was no way Eliza could have avoided it. The truck driver came out of a side road without stopping and ploughed directly into Eliza’s side of the car. She was knocked unconscious by the impact. Her left arm broke with the impact against the steering wheel. Most damaging of all was the large piece of metal from the truck’s bumper bar that buckled on impact and turned into a knife, slicing her thigh, through muscles and skin. Ironically, that same metal saved her life, stopping the blood flow until the ambulance men were able to cut her out of the car.
She was in hospital for three weeks and then in a rehabilitation centre for two months. An uncertain future stretched in front of her. Leo came to Melbourne for the first month, visiting every day. Clementine and Miranda took turns taking time off work after Leo went back home, visiting just as often. Maggie came over for weekends and sent cards every few days.
Eliza didn’t want sympathy. She wanted the truth. A doctor finally gave it to her. ‘If you do all the exercises, if you stay strong enough through the pain of the rehabilitation process, you’ll walk again, but you’ll never be able to run.’
It was the week before she was discharged that Mark appeared. News of her accident had spread. She’d had cards and flowers from all her clients in the early weeks and then, when it became clear that her recovery would be slow, tentative phone calls asking if she would understand if they went elsewhere, only until she was better, of course.
Her first thought when Mark walked in was that he had come to take her clients. He must have seen the fire in her eyes and guessed what she was thinking.
‘I’m not a vulture.’
‘Why are you here then?’
‘I heard you’ll never be able to run again.’
‘That’s what they’re saying.’
‘Bullshit.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘I said bullshit, Faraday. Of course you will.’
‘Who’s going to make me?’
‘I am.’
Just like that, their friendship was rekindled. She didn’t ask about his wife or his sons for nearly a month. He eventually mentioned them in passing.
‘You’re still together?’ A nod. That was the last time he spoke of them.
He kept to his word. He did help her walk again. Mark, and two physiotherapists. He also made her run. She would never be as fast or as fit as she had been. The injuries were too severe; her body wasn’t strong enough to take the weight in motion. But she still proved the doctor wrong. She slowly regained tone. She built up her muscles again. The day came, ten months after her accident, when she finally managed to run one kilometre. It was ungainly and she was nearly crying with the pain, but she finished it. Mark was at her side.
He drove her home from the sports ground that day, carried her training bag in, said no to her offer of a drink. He was about to leave when she asked him, ‘Why did you do this?’
‘I’ve always liked a challenge.’
‘Why, Mark? Was it guilt?’
She waited for a glib answer. He looked at her for a long moment and then answered, ‘Because I love you.’
Her heart flipped in her chest. ‘Love? You never loved me.’
‘I did. I do.’
‘Are you going to leave Belinda?’
‘No. But I don’t want to leave you again either.’
‘So it’s my choice?’
He nodded.
She’d stared at him. He was so familiar to her. The long, lanky body, the tanned face, the blue eyes. She had never stopped loving him either. ‘How would it work?’
‘However you wanted it to. I’d take whatever you could give me. And I’d give you whatever I could in return.’
She hesitated only a moment, before walking across the room, closing the gap between them. She reached up and kissed him.
He kissed her back. A long, hungry kiss that quickly became something more. It was slow, sensual, extraordinary.
They met again two nights later. Again a week after that. There was no more training together, no more encouraging from him to get fit again or to exercise. What was happening between them now was something new. Eliza tried to find a name for it. A sexual relationship? A love affair? Or both.
They had now been together for nearly fourteen years. They saw each other at least twice a week. It was Mark who had encouraged her move from fitness training into life coaching, when she had finally realised her body would never completely recover from the accident. She’d eventually found her new career just as rewarding. It was the same principles, after all, except she was encouraging her clients to be disciplined, organised and focused about their whole lives, not just their physical fitness. The hours were better too. She and Mark had managed four holidays away, less than a week each time. She never asked him what he told his wife and sons, how he explained his absences. She didn’t want to know. She also never asked him what his plans were with his wife, now that his two sons
were getting old enough to leave home. Not because she dreaded the answer. She simply didn’t want to know. What they had was enough for her.
Something had changed inside her after her accident. She had come so close to dying, so close to losing everything, that she had hardened. She knew that. She knew there was just one chance at happiness, one chance at a full life, and in all the long, lonely, painful hours in the hospital and during the physiotherapy afterwards, she had made a promise to herself. If she wanted something, she was going to do all she could to have it, while she still could. And she had always wanted Mark. Always loved Mark. And she knew he loved her too. He told her often. He thought she was beautiful. He loved her determination. Her courage. Her intelligence. Once or twice he had tried to explain why he hadn’t been able to leave his wife and sons, but she’d stopped the discussion. She didn’t want to know any details. Eliza thought of his life with his wife and sons as a foreign land, one she didn’t want to visit.
She knew she and Mark had something other couples didn’t. Passion that lasted. It had never been diluted by discussions about putting the rubbish out, running out of milk or whose turn it was to drive the kids to swimming training. They didn’t nurse each other’s colds and flu. They didn’t discuss budgets for renovations or trips abroad. They had the cream at the top of a relationship, without all the tedium. And who knew – perhaps Mark and his wife would have broken up again if it hadn’t been for Eliza adding the colour he needed in his life.
Only one person in Eliza’s life knew about Mark. Her best friend in Melbourne, a former client called Louisa. She had arrived to visit Eliza unexpectedly one summer afternoon, just as Mark was leaving. It had been obvious what they had been doing.
To Eliza’s surprise, she told Louisa everything that afternoon. Louisa had been shocked and disapproving. She didn’t care how fantastic the sex was, she said. Or whether Eliza believed Mark was her soul mate. ‘What makes me so angry is you’ve put your whole life on hold for him.’
Those Faraday Girls Page 27
