As she backs out of the room, they all watch each other warily, then, when she reaches the door, she turns and scurries away.
They are a funny lot, her family. She has always contemplated writing a screenplay based on them, but her hatred for letters has bled over to writing in general, so she has never found the enthusiasm to actually do it.
Today, though, her eccentric family is the least of her concerns.
Her stomach twists with anticipation as she heads downstairs and out into the front yard. She is going to ring Hugh. This decision has been circulating her thoughts for days, ever since Aunt June told her to sign the divorce papers and be done with it.
She has only been delaying the inevitable by not signing the papers and cutting her ties to Hugh. She lost him over a year ago and he isn’t coming back to save her—it is time she comes to grips with those facts.
Power tools and hammering, droning and banging fill the small-town silence, more constant than the birds this past month. The mid-morning sun is intense.
Lily-Rose knows that in order for her and Hugh to make some kind of peace deal, she has to apologise. Woeful as it is, she hasn’t had the courage to do that yet. She hasn’t been brave enough to admit the affair and their relationship’s demise was all her fault. Because it was. She was the one who slept with another man and hurt Hugh in ways she could not even imagine.
The one image she will never bleach from her brain is when Hugh confronted her about the affair. He was perched on the end of their bed while she was getting dressed for a dinner they had organised for that evening.
“Who is Antonio?” he asked. She had never heard his voice sound like that before—deep, sad, frightened. When she looked into his eyes, so full of sorrow, her knees buckled beneath her and she fell to the carpet. Her chest cramped until her ribs felt bruised.
He rubbed his hands over his face. So silent. He hadn’t needed to speak. She could feel his disappointment painfully on her own skin. She could see the sense of betrayal in his eyes as they glossed with tears. She could hear the disbelief, shock and torment in his shuddering breaths.
She was a sharp-bladed axe and had launched herself at his heart, hacking at him until he was a bloody mess. What a weapon to be in this world. The damage she wielded to the man she had sworn to love was incomparable to anything else she had ever done in her life. To dismantle Hugh’s sense of reality with a swift swing of her blade was indefensible.
How does one exist with that on their conscience?
How can he ever forgive her after that?
What a gift to have loved and been loved for thirty years. And yet she treated that gift like bruised fruit and threw it away on casual sex with a near-stranger. As though sex is something even remotely worthy of destroying a marriage.
Lily-Rose doesn’t expect that he’ll ever forgive her. Such shame burns up her oesophagus. It’s not easy to admit you are the sole reason why something so wonderful was destroyed.
She isn’t adverse to hardship. Since her father died when she was ten, she has been scrambling to keep her footing. A month after she graduated from senior college, her best friend committed suicide. That rocked her to the core—a solid, burning mass of guilt and grief tore her open for many years.
Soon after marrying Hugh, they suffered through two miscarriages before finally having Pia.
Then it was her grandparents, a few years apart. A decade ago, her best friend passed away from breast cancer after a five-year battle. Then Hugh’s father, followed soon by his brother.
Heartache after heartache like big waves. She’d finally stand up again, but another wave, larger, more destructive than the last, would rocket towards her and knock her over again.
And each wave would always feel like that very first one when she was ten and was laying a rose on her father’s coffin.
She had hoped by now, she’d have found her way, learned how to stand, but not so.
Lily-Rose pulls her phone out of her pocket and dials Hugh’s number. All of that life, she shared with Hugh. That’s what is difficult about letting go; not only saying goodbye to his solid form, but to the intangible moments—happy, heart-breaking and hard—they had shared too.
Her heart races as the phone rings and rings.
“Lily-Rose,” Hugh says as she is about to hang up.
It catches her off guard, and she stumbles for a moment. “Hugh. Hi.”
“Can you keep it brief? I’m heading into surgery in the next ten minutes.”
She closes her eyes as tears sting. “I … was ringing to let you know that I’ve signed the divorce papers. I’m heading to the post box this afternoon to send them back to your lawyer.”
“Well, I guess that’s sorted then. We can both move forward.”
“Yes,” she says, but her voice lacks volume and power.
“Is that everything then?” he asks impatiently.
Tears tighten her throat, thieve her breath. “No. I …” She rubs the back of her neck, drops her head between her shoulders. “I’m really sorry, Hugh. For destroying our marriage. I hate that I’ve hurt you like this, and I apologise.”
Silence. “Yes. Well. Thank you, I guess.”
“Anyway, I thought I’d let you know what’s happening.”
“Okay. Good. I’m going to be heading to Tasmania at Christmas to see Pia. Despite everything that’s happening with us, it’s wonderful news about the pregnancy. It’s really pulled me out a funk to know I’m going to be a Grand—”
“What pregnancy?” her words are rushed. Her head grows light, her vision dim.
“Pia’s pregnancy, of course.”
She chuckles shrilly. “What are you talking about? Pia’s not …” she stops herself short. The vomiting. The late starts in the morning. The decaf coffee. The crying.
Like two opposing storms have struck her at once, she is filled with exhilarating excitement as well as gut-wrenching jealousy that Pia chose to tell Hugh before her.
“You didn’t know?” Hugh asks with a voice much like a horse-whisper talking to a testy stallion.
Lily-Rose swallows hard and attempts to keep the hurt and embarrassment from her tone. “Now is the first I heard of it.”
“I assumed she would have told you. Probably best to speak to her about it.”
She holds her head high. “Yes. Best I do that. Anyway, Hugh, nice to talk to you. I’ll hear from you later.”
She doesn’t wait for a response, instead hangs up the phone.
Why the bloody hell would Pia not have told me about something so monumental?
She whirls and faces the looming façade of Viewtree House. An overwhelming wave of sadness swirls around her ankles and slowly rises, filling every fissure in her body.
At first, she believes this sadness is because Pia chose to tell Hugh about the pregnancy before her. And yes, that hurts, but it’s not what is making her cry.
Hugh, the one stable part of her life, the one and only unshakeable rock she has had since leaving this town, this very house, thirty years ago, is no longer hers to lean on. Once, she could feel his passion so strongly when he simply gazed at her, but now he can barely tolerate a phone call.
Since she was old enough to choose her own path, she has been wandering, seeking something more. First chance she got, she bolted from this house because within its walls is so much pain.
You don’t shake off a father dying at ten years old. It’s like a ghost that haunts you every single day. Dad’s ghost chased her around the world, to every audition, to every acting job, into the arms of Antonio, and brought her back here.
Her whole life she has been chasing her tail only to circle right back to where she started because, in a way, she’s never been able to leave this house. Because all the grief, abandonment and pain have sat solidly in her heart like a slab of marble, no matter how much she has tried to run away from it.
A sob bellows from her as that realisation dawns. Her entire life has been wasted. Thirty years of marriage—all
gone. Yes, she has a beautiful daughter to show for it, but everything else was for nought.
Her career is dead, her marriage is over, and her daughter trusts her father more with the news that she is pregnant. Tears flood her eyes and roll down her cheeks.
She marches back up to the manor. Luca comes from around the side of the house with a couple of workers. They are laughing with each other until they see the mess she is.
Lily-Rose quickly wipes her eyes with her palms, but it’s useless, the tears aren’t slowing. Her nose is running.
Luca rushes to her side. “What’s the matter? You’re not hurt?”
She shakes her head and cries louder. Her hand presses to her chest to show him where she’s in pain—her heart is broken, smashed so badly it’s irreparable. “In here,” she manages between sobs.
“Chest pains?” he asks urgently, holding her shoulders.
She shakes her head and cries more, realising he thinks she’s having a heart attack. “Heartache,” she whispers, wiping her eyes again. She knows how ugly she looks when crying. That’s why she chose acting roles that didn’t require too much of it. But she can’t stop the tears.
His expression is empathetic. “Come on inside. We’ll find some tissues. Maybe I can make you a cup of tea?”
She follows him through the front door, grateful for his calm, sympathetic voice. Hugh had a voice like that before he hated her.
In the kitchen, her noisy cries echo in the closed room. Lily-Rose baulks when she notices the blackened ash of a tablecloth on Aunt June’s reading table.
Luca’s brow furrows. “Someone’s had a bit of a mishap by the looks of it.”
“A smudging accident,” Lily-Rose says, not knowing what that even means.
Pia rushes into the kitchen. She’s frowning deeply, and her eyes reflect her worry. “What’s the matter?”
Lily-Rose shakes her head and collapses onto a seat.
Pia sits beside her while Luca sets about making tea, but hands her a box of tissues when he finds one sitting on the bench near the kettle.
“Thank you,” she says, taking out three and promptly blowing her runny nose, then wiping her eyes.
“Mum, what is it?”
Lily-Rose looks at her daughter, her concerned gaze, and more tears fall down her face. She knows the reasons for Pia not telling her about the baby are in no way vindictive. Pia doesn’t have a hurtful bone in her body. But it still pounds at her heart.
“I rang your father and told him I’ve signed the divorce papers.”
Pia sighs. Her posture crumples. “Oh, you did, did you? So that’s it then?”
Lily-Rose nods. “All over. I’ll post them this afternoon.”
“I thought he would have tried harder to see if you two can reconcile.”
Lily-Rose shakes her head. “Our marriage is irreparable.” She left out the prefix: after what I did.
“It’s so sad, Mum. All those years together, now thrown away.”
Guilt clenches her stomach. “I know. I’m sorry. I … lost my way and now we’re all paying for it.”
Pia’s bottom lip is quivering, but she does well to hold the tears back.
Luca places a cup of tea down in front of Lily-Rose and another for Pia.
“Thank you,” they both whisper.
“I’ll give you two some privacy,” he says. He catches Pia’s eyes for a brief moment before striding out of the kitchen.
Lily-Rose sips at her tea and frames the cup with her hands as she rests it back on the table top. “It’s something we’re going to have to get through.”
Pia frowns. “It sure is.”
She doesn’t pressure Pia to reveal her pregnancy. She will give her the space to tell her in her own time. Besides, with all these other horrible emotions flooding Lily-Rose’s body, some time before she is required to feel an entirely new set might be the more sensible option.
Chapter 25
Pia
Pia appreciates the silence as she drives to Hobart. She has an appointment with a new doctor Dad referred her to. The solitude allows her time to really think about her situation without unexpected interruptions from her family.
Since arriving in Tasmania, in between planning for renovations, morning sickness, and general day-to-day living, she hasn’t had a moment to herself. And Pia quite likes long hours of time where she doesn’t have to talk to anybody. That was the good thing about Ben. He worked such long hours, so she had ample time to herself.
How will she be when the baby arrives?
There certainly won’t be any alone time for a good eighteen years. And it’s not like she has a partner who can relieve her from her role every now and then. For the first time, fear creeps in, compressing her ribcage.
She will be raising a child on her own.
She does have her family, though. Knowing Mum, eternally clucky, she’ll be eager to have time with the baby. But, there will be no one to help with the night feeds, the milestones, the day-to-day drudgery. Can she do this alone?
Gripping the steering wheel tighter, Pia inhales deeply and releases the air noisily through her nose. She has no choice. This is going to happen whether she’s ready and capable or not.
Before long, she arrives in Hobart at the medical centre where she will be meeting with her new doctor for the first time.
The appointment goes well. Dr Khan is young but professional. She runs Pia through the schedule of appointments she will have to attend, their number increasing as time draws closer to her anticipated delivery date, which is settled as June 8 next year.
The eighth day feels quite auspicious. She’ll have to remember to ask June if there is any significance.
The ultrasound will take place in a couple of months when she’s eighteen weeks. Maybe Mum would like to come with her to that one. Pia would appreciate the support.
Before making the drive home, Pia stops to grab a quick bite and spends an hour at the shopping mall. She can’t resist creeping into the powder-scented baby section of a department store and feeling the soft materials of clothes and blankets.
Looking at all the baby items—baths, high chairs, cots, prams, car capsules, blankets, clothes, lotions, toys, and nappies—she is filled with a squeezing sense of foreboding. So much is needed for this baby.
A plush blanket is on sale, so she buys one as well as a couple of packets of singlets and a few romper suits in white, pastel yellow and green.
The afternoon is late by the time Pia makes it back to the outskirts of Campbell Town, and her eyes are burning. She aches for a nap.
The hormones have been sending her to bed before eight-thirty most nights and almost every afternoon she has a small rest. Even though she misses the excitement of working, she’s grateful she isn’t at her old job; unsure how she would have coped with the long hours.
A few minutes away from the manor, her phone rings. She takes the call via the car’s Bluetooth connection.
“Pia speaking.”
“Pia, it’s Ben. Have I got you at a good time?”
Her stomach lurches and heart thumps one big bang. “Ben? What … what are you …” She doesn’t know how to finish the sentence without sounding rude. But, honestly, what the hell could he be ringing about?
“I thought I’d give you a call to catch up. I’ve been thinking about you. A lot.”
There’s a definite slur to his words—he’s been drinking, and this is what is aptly named Drunk Dialling. Not a smart move.
“Well, perhaps you should try and limit that because I’m now living on the other side of the world.”
“I still can’t believe you ran away like this.”
She blows out an exasperated sigh. “Let’s get this clear. I didn’t run away. There was nothing left for me in San Fran.”
“You had me.”
“No, I had you and every other woman you wanted to sleep with.”
“I’ve been thinking about that.”
“About what? Your grade chart?”
Silence for a moment. “Yes. I should never have expected you to agree to it. Some of my friends had implemented it into their relationships and I thought it—”
“Would be good to have your cake and eat it too?” she suggests.
“No. It was never like that.”
Pia pulls into the long driveway and slowly makes her way up to the house. “I can’t find any other way to see it. You wanted to have a relationship with me as a nice safety cushion while you tested out other women.”
“When you word it that way, it does sound … horrible.”
“Moronic more like it. Self-indulged. Juvenile. And quite barbaric to tell you the truth.”
Again the sigh. “Yes. All of those things. But, baby, if you come back, I promise it will be only you. Losing you has made me realise how much I love you and how much I want you, only you, in my life.”
She parks in the garage. A small part of her reacts to the genuineness of his admission. It strums on the fibres within her heart that once believed she loved him.
But now that she is here in Tasmania, undertaking this project with her family, she can see that this is the life she is made for. Not the hectic, long hours of San Francisco. And she certainly wouldn’t raise her child there.
Her hand drifts to her belly as she allows the car to idle in position. She’s carrying Ben’s baby, though. Is that reason enough to try and make it work with him?
She shakes her head. No. No way.
“I’m sorry, Ben, but it’s too late.” He’s not a man she could spend her future with. Sure, he might think he wants only her at this moment, but what about when another woman crosses his path and an opportunity arises to sleep with her. It may not happen straight away. Maybe in a couple of years, maybe a decade. And then what? She’d be even more heartbroken and so would their child.
And besides all that, the moment he gave her the disgusting proposition, the speed with which she withdrew was swift. The decision to come back home to Australia was almost instant. And the amount of time she has spent grieving for their relationship is practically nil.
The Secrets Mothers Keep Page 14
