He nods, though there is suspicion in his slightly narrowed gaze.
“Anyway, it was lovely to see you again after all these years.” She leans in and kisses his clammy cheek. Stubble meets her lips, along with the sour scent of too many days without a shower. “I’m terribly sorry about your wife. I’ll be praying for you.”
“Thanks, June. Um, do you think I could get your number? Maybe we can catch up sometime down the road … when I’ve … when I’m settled.”
She wrinkles her nose ever so slightly. “I hope you understand if I say no. I’d really like to keep the past in the past.”
He offers a tense smile, though she can see that she has hurt him. “I understand.”
“Thanks for the tea. And thank you for agreeing to not approach the media again.”
“Sure. No worries.”
They exchange final greetings and Joshua walks June to the door. With a wave, she heads along the cracked cement pathway to her car. Without hesitation, she climbs in, starts the engine and drives away. Only when she is a few hundred metres up the road, does she let the shock of what was revealed affect her.
She shakes her head, trying to make sense of it all. If Grace has known all along, why has she never said anything? And has she told anyone else?
A short distance up the road, she pulls over to the kerb, rummages through her handbag for her mobile and calls her sister.
“Mary speaking.”
“It’s June.”
“Oh, how did your meeting go?”
“Fine. Except …”
“Except what?” Mary asks in a lower, quieter voice.
“Joshua told Grace everything all those years ago. Grace suggested to him that Lily-Rose was his daughter. He’s held that belief all these years.”
“Grace? When?”
“He visited the house after I came to live with you. They went for a walk and worked out the truth between them.”
“Jesus Christ. What in the bloody hell was she thinking?”
“She would have only been young herself. She wouldn’t have understood the consequences of saying something like that.”
A deep sigh. “I suppose not. Are you on your way home?”
“Yeah. I’ll be there in a couple of hours.”
“All right,” Mary says. “We’ll talk about it when you get here.”
“In the meantime, should you confront Grace about it?” June asks.
“No. Let sleeping dogs lie. If she hasn’t brought it up in all this time, she’s not going to now. Not with all the fuss going on in her life at the moment.”
June agrees, says goodbye and puts her phone away. She stares out through the windscreen for a long moment. Why does it feel as though everything is slowly unravelling?
“Probably because it is,” she mumbles as she shifts her car into drive and indicates to veer out on to the road. “Probably because it bloody well is.”
By the time June has arrived home, all her energy has been sapped. After a lifetime of keeping something this emotionally charged concealed, it is bound to leave its trace upon her soul. Here she is, trying to be seen as a spiritual person, when all she is, deep down, is someone who does everything to hide the truth.
She isn’t a good person at all. She is a fake. Someone who hides behind a face of peace and tranquillity when inside she’s bound as tightly as a ball of twine.
She ambles inside. The house is empty, silent.
As she makes it to the bottom of the stairs, Lily-Rose rushes from the kitchen, destroying the quiet with noisy footsteps and mumbling curses.
June meets her angry gaze and steels herself, certain now that the heist is finally up.
Lily-Rose marches up to June, holding out her phone. “Another article,” she says. “About the same shit. Don’t worry, I’ve already called my lawyer. I am taking this further.”
June’s stomach clenches. Engaging a lawyer is the worst decision possible, not only for June and her own family but also for what Joshua will have to go through to defend or perhaps even prove that his words weren’t defamatory while his wife is in hospital living out her final days.
“You called your lawyer?” June asks in the steadiest tone she can manage.
“Yep, I’ve had enough.” She shakes her phone in the air. “This piece of shit will think twice before crossing me again.”
June stares at her daughter, the immature defiance on her face and all of a sudden she wants to slap that look right off her. Her breathing shallows as anger races through her system.
“How dare he spread lies like this?” Lily-Rose continues, oblivious to the lava eating June up from the inside. “Like I’ve nothing better to do than deal with troublemaking scum like him.”
Something snaps in June's brain; her hands ball into shaking fists. “Hey!” she screams. “Not everything in life is about you!”
Lily-Rose stops talking, takes a step back, eyes wide.
“Have you even considered for a millisecond that this also involves other people?” Her words are so loud, her lips shake as she screams them.
“I … of course … that’s why I called the lawyer—”
“Bullshit! We asked you to let it go, but no. You’ve got to drag it up again. Not everything is about you. It’s about time you realise that.”
Lily-Rose stares, dumbfounded, eyes searching June’s.
June shakes her head and storms past her up the stairs, ignoring the shocked look from Mary who is watching from the top landing. She doesn’t meet her gaze as she strides past; instead, heads directly to her room and closes the door.
She breathes in a shuddering breath, equally ashamed and self-righteous about what happened.
But she spoke the truth. Lily-Rose only ever thinks of herself. And June fears it is all her fault. How else can she expect Lily-Rose to behave when from before she was even born, everything was about her, and it still is. An entire life given over so that the woman down there could have the best life June could give under the circumstances.
Chapter 38
Grace
Grace sits on the end of her bed, staring at the threadbare carpet beneath her feet. For the last six weeks, her bedroom has been her safe place. She has preferred to stay under the blankets, sleeping.
Hearing that her husband had created an entirely new personality during the length of their relationship until just before the end, triggered a brutal storm of despair that hit her on the plane ride home from Perth. It had been hovering above her for months, waiting for something like this to give it permission to attack.
The storm had its way with her, thrashing her about, wringing her inside out as she fought to reconcile this strange New John with who she is, who John was, and all their experiences together.
The hardest emotion to resolve, though, was the sensation of betrayal this truth had created. As much as she tried to rationalise it, that John was as much a victim of his amnesia as she is, all she could see was the deception.
After decades of marriage, a partnership of love and trust, he didn’t open his mouth and tell her the truth. Even when he knew he was dying, he didn’t mention it; instead, carried out the charade until his last breath.
Then last night, she dreamed of John. They were in their old house, sitting on the end of the bed together. She was yelling at him, hitting him, and scratching at his decomposed skin, pulling away chunks with her fingernails, and wrenching at his flimsy threadbare shirt. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she screamed, her body vibrating. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
He looked at her then with those familiar blue eyes that were sunken into his eye sockets and framed by a veiny and blackened face. Beneath his gaunt corpselike expression was calm. “I didn’t want to hurt you, Grace. I was trying to protect you.”
She had awoken gasping for air. The dream had been so real, she swore she could smell the scent of rot in the air, still feel his flesh and black congealed blood on the pads of her fingers.
She had rolled her legs over
the side of the bed, letting them hang, lowered her head into her hands and sobbed. Big ugly wracks and cries, shoulders bobbing up and down, chest shaking, snot and tears. Her heart ached with the pain of his loss.
A new loss, completely different from the one she experienced when he died.
Of course he had tried to protect her from the truth. He knew her well enough to predict how she would react. She could understand that. But she still wished he was the one to have told her.
Grace stands and pulls the cover up over her bed. Navigating this new day, she can already sense that she has pushed through the worst of the gloom that has been keeping her bed-ridden.
Realising John’s motivation for not telling her the truth while he had the chance has reduced her anguish.
Grace showers and dresses into fresh, clean-pressed green trousers with a black blouse. She brushes and styles her hair, something she hasn’t managed for many weeks.
But before she heads downstairs for breakfast, she decides that now is the time to tell her sons about their father. She knows firsthand the grief and betrayal she has experienced because John withheld the truth from her. She will not do the same to them. They are mature men with their own families and more than capable of handling this information.
She calls Marcus first. He is shocked at first. Then, as the revelation sinks in, he is slightly amused. But mostly, he’s wise enough to know that life will go on. This is simply one more event he will shoulder. And thankfully, he has broad shoulders.
Alex reacts differently, but as the youngest, he was always closest to John. He is also the more emotional of her sons. As he discusses and questions all that Grace knows about his father, a tremble finds his voice and it tugs at her own emotions, dragging them to the surface. But she pulls the phone away from her mouth and collects herself.
“This doesn’t change anything, Alex. You know and I know that Dad loved us all so much. He can’t help what happened. We can’t change it. And we can’t let it taint our memories of him.” As she is saying the words, deep down they resonate as truth.
“So I have a sister?” Alex says.
Grace closes her eyes. “Yes.”
“Does she want to meet us?”
“She has left that decision to us.”
“I think I’d like to meet her,” he says. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Take some time to think about it. And if you decide you want to, I’ll organise a meeting.”
They talk briefly about the grandkids, but her children have never been big on phone conversations, much like their father in that respect, so, too soon for her, Alex ends the call.
For a while she sits there on the bed, staring, each limb as heavy as sodden sacks of sand, yet her mind is lighter. The truth is out in the open now.
It has long been said that you don’t know what you don’t know, but Grace can’t find truth in that old adage anymore. In some way, whether that be with her intuition, her heart, or her mind, a subtle discord has existed within Grace. Something greater than John’s death. A sense of asymmetry. A splintered notch in the weave of her life.
These past six weeks, she has come face to face with the horrible creature that had stalked her in the dark cave she has existed in for the last year. That creature was truth—big, black and scary as hell. But ever since confronting that fearful thing, she has achieved a sense of wholeness and rightness. As though, in the end, that was all she has ever needed to do—confront the beast.
In all the time since John has died, only now does Grace see the future stretching out before her as though some Heavenly creature has reached down into the cave, snapped the final threads of the rope keeping her there and hoisted her out into the sunlight.
John will always be a part of her, and the pain of his loss will always be embedded within her soul, but she’s no longer stuck there in that time that wavers between the moments before and just after he died.
She has space now.
She has a road to travel on and it’s heading north.
After some quiet reflection, Grace heads downstairs for a coffee and breakfast.
Lily-Rose is already in the kitchen. The sharp edges of her cheekbones are hidden, and her belly has a feminine roundness now. Her hair is no longer shaded with an eye gouging peroxide brightness.
“You’re looking really lovely, Lily-Rose,” Grace says.
Lily-Rose looks down at her plain jeans and T-shirt. “Really?”
Grace smiles. “Yes. Beautiful. The country air must be doing you some good.”
Lily-Rose sighs and her shoulders droop. Her gaze is distant, empty. “Sure doesn’t feel that way. I feel so lost at the moment. Aunt June is barely speaking to me. Hugh and I aren’t on speaking terms either. I feel like everything is falling apart.”
Grace lowers her focus to her feet and grimaces. All these years she has watched Lily-Rose grow-up, become a young woman and transform into the lady she is now. She has seen how, despite all the success she has had, she’s never quite managed to master her life.
There is always one drama after the other, one problem or another. There’s always a messy sadness that sits in the background of everything.
For a long time, Grace could barely tolerate her. There was such neediness and desire for attention that grated on Grace. Like a cat that always sits on your lap and begs for pats. It’s nice for a while, but after some time, it becomes annoying.
This is what lies do to people—they tip things slightly off-kilter. Intuition knows something is wrong but can’t grasp the right answers because the right information is not available to cling to. All intuition can find is lies and cover-ups.
Only now after all Grace has been through can she finally see that, like a bright flashing light in the room.
“Lily-Rose, I need to tell you something really important,” she says.
Lily-Rose’s eyes widen. “What is it?”
“Maybe we should take a walk,” she suggests.
Lily-Rose’s forehead furrows. “Um, okay. Sure. It sounds … serious.”
Grace’s brow is stern. “It is. So brace yourself.”
Chapter 39
Lily-Rose
Lily-Rose’s heart is beating fast. What could Aunt Grace possibly have to tell her that requires her to brace herself? A million scenarios race through her brain, but she dismisses each of them.
They head outside together and stroll side-by-side along the gravel path. The suspense is killing her.
“What the hell do you need to tell me?” she asks.
The expression on Aunt Grace’s face is jarring—pity.
With a deep breath, Aunt Grace composes herself and looks into Lily-Rose’s eyes. “A secret has been kept from you, and I think it’s my duty to tell you the truth after all these years.”
Lily-Rose shakes her head. “What? What secret?” Sure, she likes gossip, but not when she is the centre of it and not when it is next level like this.
Aunt Grace frowns deeply. “Lily-Rose, Mary is not your biological mother. That article in the magazine was one-hundred per cent right to state that June is.”
Lily-Rose laughs, a single high-pitched shriek. “Come on. How can you possibly expect me to believe that?”
Aunt Grace stops walking as they reach the celery top pines and faces her. She grips Lily-Rose’s shoulders and stares deep into her eyes. Such seriousness shapes her features. “I wouldn’t joke about something like this. Your real mother is June.”
Her legs weaken beneath her. The world zooms in and out of focus. “No,” she whispers, shaking her head.
“I think it’s best you know the truth. It’s your right to know.”
She shakes her head again. All the noises around her have dulled. She is dizzy. Her heart is pounding up into her throat. “No. That can’t be right. How could they lie for so long? It doesn’t make sense.” Yet in the back of her mind, this new information is brushing roughly against all the old questions and suspicions she has kept away in untouchable com
partments. “Please, don’t lie to me about such things. I can’t take it. I can’t take any of it.”
Aunt Grace’s hands leave Lily-Rose’s shoulders and hang beside her frame. She sighs. “I know it’s difficult. But it’s the truth. June was fifteen when she fell pregnant with you. In order to ensure you stayed with this family, rather than be adopted, Mary and Robert took you on as their own.”
Lily-Rose stares at Aunt Grace. She is finding it hard to draw breath. “Aunt June is my … my… mother?” Her words are a whisper by the end of the sentence. All through her body is such horrible, twisting sensations like blunt knives are hacking her apart. The truth meeting with lies. All at once, she doesn’t know who she is.
“I need Hugh,” she wheezes. Her lungs are empty. “I need Hugh,” she repeats.
“Come inside, and we’ll talk about this more.” She places a hand on Lily-Rose’s shoulder and gently pushes. “I’m sure you have a lot of questions.”
Lily-Roses shrugs off Aunt Grace’s hand. She shakes her head hard. No. No way. She does not want to talk to any of these liars. She wants Hugh. Only Hugh. With shaking hands, she reaches into her jeans pocket for her phone and dials his number. He answers after two rings.
“Yes,” he says brusquely.
She ignores his curtness. “Book me a flight. Please. I need you.” Each word is barely audible, filled with a lifetime of anguish.
“What’s the matter? Is something wrong?”
“Yes. Everything is all wrong. I’ve been lied to my entire life…” She breaks off when she can no longer manage words for the pain in her chest and throat is too much.
“I’ll send you your flight number and times once I’ve got you a flight.”
Tears want to rush forth, but shock is keeping them back.
“Thank you,” she whispers. She hangs up and looks at Aunt Grace. “You need to drive me to the airport. Now!”
Tears are in Aunt Grace’s eyes as she nods.
* * *
Lily-Rose lands at the Sydney airport and makes her way into the arrival’s lounge. Hugh is standing off to the side, his posture loose, frown deep. The moment she meets his sad gaze and all that sympathy is communicated, she bursts into tears.
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