“But Ellie, you can’t run and hide forever. You have to face what —”
“Julia,” I snapped, “I will SMS you soon. I promise. This is for me to figure out on my own.”
Pressing end, I placed my phone back on the table. “There. I spoke to her,” I said dismissively while unravelling my napkin and placing it on my lap. “Hopefully your theory works and she leaves me be.”
“Princess, look at me.”
Swallowing hard, I reined in my impending emotional outburst and met his gaze.
“You did the right thing,” he said softly, reaching over the table and taking my hand in his. “You told me you want to keep moving forward. That was another step.” Standing, he leaned over further so that he could bring my hand to his lips. “Steps like that one can lead to a full fucking marathon.”
I smiled while simultaneously rolling my eyes and blinking back some tears. “Well, I’ve never liked running,” I joked, as he released my hand and sat back down.
“That’s because you’ve never been properly chased.”
“That right?”
“I’d say so.” He threaded a strawberry onto a skewer and then poked it into the chocolate fountain.
“And you are going to show me what that’s like?”
Placing the skewered berry on his plate, he shuffled his chair close to mine before picking the berry back up again and raising it to my mouth. “If you want me to.”
I separated my lips for him and bit down on the chocolate-smothered, red, fruity deliciousness while watching with fascination as Lawson’s eyes lit up. “You eally do ike strawbys, on’t you?” I mumbled piggily as I consumed the explosion of ‘hell, yes’ that just entered my mouth.
He smiled and skewered another one. “Yeah, I do.”
“Here, my turn,” I said, snatching it from him and swivelling to dip it in the fountain behind us. “This is pretty cool. I’ve never eaten fondue before.”
“Best thing ever!” was his only reply as he sat and waited — impatiently, mind you. “Come on, feed me, woman.”
My mouth dropped. My brows drew in. “Woman?”
“Do you prefer man?” he asked with a smartarse smirk.
Unable to help myself, I plonked the chocolate-covered berry on his forehead and dragged it down his nose and across his cheek before placing it in my mouth. “No, I prefer princess.” I boisterously chewed and gave him a wink.
He shook his head with amusement and wiped the chocolate from his face with his napkin. “You are lucky that this is my happy place. Nothing can make me mad here.”
“Tell me about the times you came here with your mum?” I asked, licking the tip of my finger and wiping a small smear of chocolate from his nose.
Lawson picked up the bottle of strawberry wine and poured us both a glassful. “Well ... that’s just it, every time we came here, we did the exact same thing. We gathered our trays and supplies, chose a spot in the field and picked the best berries we could find.”
“So it was a comforting routine?” I asked, chinking my glass against his.
Lawson’s gaze slipped past my shoulder, held suspended as he recalled a memory dear to his heart. I envied how he so openly wore his grief over the loss of his mother. It was something I had not yet found the strength to do. Instead, I wore anger over Tristan’s death, and struggled to openly acknowledge that I did, in fact, grieve for him. Deep down, I missed him terribly. I missed what we’d had, what we’d shared and what we’d formed during our time together.
“Stella, why are you crying?”
I blinked, unsure of what he was talking about. “What?”
“You’re crying. Why are you crying?” He raised his finger to my cheek and collected a tear.
“I don’t know. Don’t worry about it. It was nothing,” I said dismissively.
He ignored me. “My mother was delivered a cruel ending to her life. A life she’d appreciated and lived to its fullest. A life she’d used to teach Meg and me everything we would need to know to live ours without her. And that included how to accept death, how to accept that shit happens and how to move on from it. Before she left this world, she told us how we were to grieve her when she was gone.” Lawson turned his chair to face mine and my chair to face his. He then took my hand and held it on his lap. “Princess, you have to forgive him. You have to let yourself miss him and mourn his loss.”
My vision blurred as pools of tears spilled on my cheeks. I knew he was right, but all I could do was nod in response.
“Good,” he whispered, pulling me in for a hug.
We both sat embracing for some time, and at one point I climbed onto his lap and just allowed his comforting arms to ease the emotions that had bubbled to the surface.
“Toad?” I mumbled against his neck. “Yeah?”
“I really, really like you,” I said, repeating the words he’d swapped for the word love when he sent me the song link for ‘Please Forgive Me’.
He chuckled and kissed the top of my head. “Yeah, me too.”
* * *
It had been three months since moving to Pittstown, and one month since allowing myself to move forward with Lawson. In those three months, we’d grown incredibly close. I’d practically moved into his bedroom, which seemed the smart choice, considering I ended up sleeping there every night anyway. The two of us just clicked. He knew when to leave me alone and let me ‘deal’, but he also knew when to bug the absolute hell out of me until I relented, which aggravated me no end.
I hated being wrong. Hated it.
And he loved being right. Really loved it.
When he managed to break me down in those moments, there was never a time when the shithead didn’t gloat, at least a little. But you know what? That was one of the qualities I loved about him. I’ve always loved it.
Even in the beginning when I didn’t know how I felt about him, even then I knew his pushy, smartarse ways were an attribute I was drawn to. Most would say that seems somewhat masochistic ... allowing oneself to be tortured by another’s frustrating antics. Except it was during those moments when he provoked me to lose control that nothing and no one existed. Sanity seemed lost, words were spoken — well, technically, they were either screamed or cried — but in that place he drove me to, there was no rhyme nor reason ... and there was no blame.
Looking back — even though it was what I’d needed at the time — I now realised that my refusal to acknowledge the past was not a long-term solution, nor my saving grace. Learning to trust, share and forgive has essentially brought me back to life. Lawson has helped me discover that being open, as opposed to evasive, is much more effective when trying to move on with one’s life.
And that’s exactly what I’d been doing during these past three months, divulging more and more of my past. In particular, talking about Tristan was something of a shock for me. When Lawson had asked me what my husband had looked like, I had paused, having to consciously recall his image ... I still vividly remember that feeling of dread I had experienced as a result of not being able to instantly and automatically visualise Tristan. Thankfully, the brain is a miraculous organ and had fairly quickly produced a clear picture, allowing me to tell Lawson that Tristan had been close to two metres tall and that he’d had short, well-kept, light-brown hair, and a small scar on his chin from when he’d stabbed himself with a fork as a child. It was at that point I realised I had no pictures of him. None. I’d left them behind at the house when I’d fled.
Lawson wanted to take me back there. He said it would be a huge step forward, yet I knew it would be taking ten steps back. I knew this because, although I had been agreeably forthcoming in my efforts to move on, there were still many things I kept buried. Things that would be stirred up had I visited home.
This was the point in time when Lawson and I had our first real fight as a couple. I’d told him to back the fuck off and let me pace myself. He’d then accused me of deliberately taking the pace of a snail. And that’s when I’d snapped, shouting at
him: “Three months we’ve known each other. Three months! I’d known Tristan for five years, and we’d been married for two of those years. So don’t fucking tell me I’m moving at a snail’s pace.”
I didn’t sleep in his room for three days after that. And that was the point when I’d received my second bunch of flowers and a song link to ‘Hard To Say I’m Sorry’ by Chicago. And ... it was also the point where we’d had the best make-up sex in the history of make-up sex. My god, it was good.
After receiving the song link message he’d sent me, I’d thought it a nice idea to show him — in person — that he was forgiven, so I made my way to the workshop. He was servicing pizza-man Pete’s HQ Kingswood when I walked in, his legs poking out from underneath the front of the car. Before leaving the house for my impromptu visit, I’d put on some sexy, red high heels and a short black dress, which was the perfect outfit for standing above him, one foot on either side of his body, so that when he slid out from underneath the car on the trolley he was lying on, he had a rather nice view up my dress — a view that wasn’t marred by panties.
Let’s just say that Lawson liked the view, because it took him less than a minute to have me sitting on the side panel of Pete’s car with my feet propped up on the wheel and my legs spread, giving him complete access to my pussy with his tongue. And boy, did he make the most of that access. There was not one surface between my legs that his tongue did not sweep, not one part of my breasts that his hands did not caress, and not one part of my body that did not explode in ecstasy when he gave me the best orgasm of my life.
Overall, the past couple of months had been good. Lawson was good. I was good.
We. Were. Good.
The sound of ‘Cold As Ice’ by Foreigner snapped me back to the now, prompting me to figure out where the song was coming from.
Noticing Lawson’s phone on the bedside table, I shouted, “Toad, your phone is ringing.”
He didn’t answer, so I figured he’d finished shaving and had already stepped into the shower. Whoever was calling could either leave a message or try again later, so I let it ring out as I returned to focussing on my book, which was both bitter and sweet. The story was brilliant but the leading female was driving me crazy! For god’s sake, woman, just choose one of them.
Not long after it had stopped ringing, Lawson’s phone sounded again, with the same ringtone. Curious as to who he would designate such a song to, I rolled from my side of the bed to his and picked it up, finding Vicky’s name flashing across the screen. Instantly, my blood ran cold, and for the life of me I could not put the phone back down. Instead, as if being possessed by the shifty-police, I hit accept and put the phone to my ear.
“Lawson, it’s me,” Vicky sobbed. “Please don’t hang up. Please just listen. I’m at your workshop, and I need your help ...”
I knew the right thing to do was to tell her it was me and that Lawson was busy, but like I said, shifty had taken over and I wanted nothing more than to know what she had to say, so I stayed quiet and listened.
“I can’t do this anymore. I’ve tried. I’ve tried to get clean. I’ve tried to be better, but I’m not and I can’t. I ... I just can’t do this anymore,” she cried. “Lawson, I need you. Please!”
I battled with the decision whether to confess that her pleas were not being heard by who she intended, instead being heard by me. On the one hand, I was pissed off by her audacity, ringing my boyfriend — a man she’d betrayed — to beg for his help. On the other hand, she sounded incredibly broken, and it was for that reason, and that reason alone, that I chose to relent and inform her it was me on the other end of the phone.
“Vicky, it’s Stella. Lawson is busy right now. I’m sorry.”
Silence took hold; her pain-filled sobs ceased. And it was that swift nothingness, creating an eerie atmosphere, which had me suddenly concerned for her safety.
“Vicky, I —”
“I’m done,” she interrupted, her voice devoid of any emotion.
Before I could say anymore, she ended the call, and maybe it was my training as a nurse or just natural instinct, but whatever it was, I knew she was in trouble. I knew she was about to do something stupid.
Knowing there wouldn’t be much time, I threw Lawson’s phone on the bed, grabbed mine, together with my car keys, and headed out the door, shouting, “I’ll be back in a minute.”
For the duration of the drive to Knight Repairs — approximately six minutes — the sick feeling in my stomach escalated. As I pulled into the driveway, my phone rang. I fumbled with the swipe screen and managed to accept the call as I exited the car and jogged toward the front office.
“Hello,” I answered a little breathlessly.
“Princess, what the fuck? Where’d you go?”
“Lawson, I’m at your workshop. Vicky called when you were in the shower. She said she was here and couldn’t do this anymore. She sounded terrible,” I explained quickly, finding the office door locked when I turned the handle. “Shit!”
“What?”
“Your office is locked.” I peeked through the window and saw Vicky lying on the floor. “Shit! Shit! Shit! She’s having a seizure. Lawson, how the hell do I get in?” I asked in a panic.
“Fuck! I’m on my way.”
“No! We don’t have time. How did she get in?”
“She has a key. Try the side gate, she —”
“Okay, I’m hanging up. Call triple zero. I think she’s over-dosed, but I’m not sure. And call the town doctor, too. He’ll get here quicker than the ambulance will.” I hung up, not giving him the chance to respond. My priority was getting to Vicky as quickly as I could.
T W E N T Y - T W O
Love is sacrifice
“Fuck!” I cursed out loud as Stella disconnected the call. “Shit!” Grabbing the keys to my Ute, I immediately dialled 000.
“You have dialled triple zero emergency. Do you need police, fire and rescue, or ambulance?” the operator asked in a calm-as-fuck voice.
“Ambulance. I need an ambulance.”
“What is the emergency, sir?”
“My ex-girlfriend is having a seizure ... or something.”
“Is she conscious?”
“I don’t know. I’m not with her. My girlfriend is. She said she thinks she’s had an overdose and told me to call an ambulance. Please, just send one to Knight Repairs in Pittstown, Victoria, as soon as possible,” I said as quickly as possible and hung up the phone. For fuck’s sake, just hurry the fuck up.I knew I shouldn’t have disconnected, but I didn’t have time for this shit, and Stella had told me to call Dr Simms as well.
* * *
When I arrived at the workshop, I found Stella kneeling on the floor next to Vicky, supporting her while Vic lay on her side.
“What happened?” I asked, jogging into the room and kneeling down beside them both. Vicky was as pale as a ghost and unconscious — she looked dead. Fuck, no! Vic!
“Is she ali—” I began to ask when Stella cut me off.
“Yes, but her breathing is shallow and her pulse is very weak. Did you call the doctor? Please tell me he’s on the way. I’m assuming the nearest ambulance to respond will be in Shep ... unless they send a chopper?”
“I don’t know, but I told them what you said. And yes, I called Dr Simms. He’ll be here any second.” I couldn’t remove my stare from Vicky’s lifeless face. “Fuck! I didn’t think she would do this. I didn’t think she was this bad.”
“It’s not your fault, Lawson. Methamphetamines mess with your head. Vicky stopped being Vicky when she started using.” Stella leaned down and placed her ear to Vicky’s mouth, then took her pulse.
“Lawson! Where are you?” Dr Simms called out.
I turned toward the door. “In the office! Hurry! She’s not breathing well.”
Dr Anthony Simms was an elderly gentleman and had been the town GP for as long as I could remember. He’d diagnosed Mum’s cancer and was a wonderful support, not only to Mum, but also to Meg and me
when Mum took her turn for the worse. As he entered the room, his face was flushed pink and his reading glasses were askew. He’d also formed a few beads of sweat across his balding head.
“Oh, Victoria, what have you done to yourself?” he asked sadly, rounding my desk and placing his medical bag on the floor.
I watched in saddened disbelief as Dr Simms and Stella tended to Vicky, hoping, no ... praying that Vic would pull through and get the help she obviously needed. Despite everything that we’d been through, I wanted nothing more than for her to be happy, healthy and drug-free.
* * *
Sometime after Dr Simms showed up, an ambulance arrived, followed by Constable Andrews. Stella and I gave him a brief rundown of the events leading up to and succeeding Vicky’s overdose, before the ambulance took her to the Shepparton District Hospital. The paramedics wouldn’t tell me shit when they pushed the gurney into the van, so I decided to follow them in my Ute in the hope I’d gain more information at the hospital. Stella wasn’t too keen on the idea and tried reassuring me by saying that she was confident Vicky would be okay, and that going to the hospital wouldn’t result in me obtaining any further info because I wasn’t her next of kin. But despite knowing she was probably right, I couldn’t just let Vic go there on her own. Plus, I felt a little responsible for her overdose and wanted to make sure she did pull through.
Stella agreed to come with me in the end, but I sensed she was pissed about it. The last thing I needed was having to deal with her mood. I just didn’t have the energy for it, so I figured her shitty reluctance would have to wait until later when my brain wasn’t so fucking fried from the drama it had dealt with.
During the drive into Shep, Stella’s phone had been ringing on and off. I’d recognised Julia’s ringtone, but there were another two I wasn’t familiar with. When I’d asked her who was trying to call, she’d brushed me off and said she had more important issues to concentrate on, like Vicky, and the official police report she was going to have to give. I didn’t argue. Even with my brain working at near zero capacity, I was still smart enough to leave her alone.
Discovering Stella Page 22
