The Runaway Ex

by Shani Struthers

  “Oh, Barolo. I love this,” Joseph said, looking studiously at the label on the wine bottle. A little too studiously, perhaps? The atmosphere was thick like treacle in the studio apartment and just as sticky. Unless Joseph was totally thick-skinned, which she knew from past experience he was not, he couldn’t have failed to notice it.

  Pouring all three of them a large glass, he completely emptied the bottle. She took her glass and gulped at it. Layla and Joseph followed suit. Perhaps it would be better once the alcohol had kicked in. The atmosphere would ease.

  Joseph turned his attention to more culinary matters, no doubt grateful that he could. Layla sat down opposite her, smoothing a tight T-shirt over equally tight jeans—an outfit chosen to highlight her perfect figure, no doubt. Her shoes had quite a heel on them, Tara noticed. Layla wasn’t that much taller than her after all.

  “So, what brings you to these shores?” Layla asked, that smile still in place.

  “To Florence? It’s a city I’ve always wanted to see.”

  “On your bucket list, then?”

  Tara started. “Er, something like that.”

  “And Australia? It’s history, is it?”

  Tara nodded. “Yes, it’s time to go home.”

  Layla appeared to consider this for a moment. “No one special who could tempt you to stay?”

  “No one.”

  “Oh, well, no place like home…or so they say.”

  Was that sarcasm in her voice? Tara didn’t know her well enough to tell. Gleaning courage from the hastily imbibed red wine, she leaned forward.

  “Layla, Joseph, I want to thank you so much for flying back with me.”

  Before Joseph had a chance to reply, Layla cut in. “The pleasure’s all ours.”

  That was definite sarcasm. She should tell her the reason why. It was only fair. Tara formed a sentence in her brain and then tried to verbalize it, but it was no use; her mouth wouldn’t comply. Joseph knew, but if she hadn’t been in such a state yesterday, she wouldn’t have told him either. It was her parents who needed to know, who had needed to know first really. If there was a natural order to things, that was it.

  Tara could sense the air around her grow heavy with expectation—Layla’s expectation. Joseph caught her eye, an apology in it. Tara didn’t acknowledge him; instead, she looked back at Layla and spoke her next words slowly and deliberately.

  “You don’t know how grateful I am.”

  Layla’s face colored. She looked away. “Need any help in the kitchen?” she called across to Joseph.

  “No, no,” he replied, returning to the table, hastily refilling their wine glasses from a second bottle of red wine. “Everything’s under control.”

  He pulled up a seat between them and downed his second glass as swiftly as his first—if it was his second, that is, and he hadn’t been at the cooking sherry as well to steady his nerves. She wouldn’t blame him if he had. For a short while, they talked about general subjects: artwork, sculptures, the weather here compared to England.

  Everything was beginning to blur around the edges, which was good. It was what was needed. Layla too looked slightly more relaxed; she wasn’t sitting as rigidly upright as before. Her lipstick had worn off; her lips were pink now, their natural color, much prettier, less formidable than the red. Hopefully it would be okay. They’d get through this meal, through the plane journey home, and then, when she was where she needed to be, she could say good-bye. Let them enjoy their holiday.

  Joseph looked at his watch.

  “Dishing up time,” he said, smiling at her, smiling at them both in equal measures, she noticed. She was right; he was just as nervous as she was.

  The food looked delicious. His cooking really had come along in the time they’d been apart. She scanned the kitchen area for cookbooks and wasn’t surprised to note there weren’t any. Joseph had always scorned them, used to like to make it up as he went along—an inventive cook. Before them was placed a salad, resplendent with artichokes, mozzarella, and tomatoes, a dish of crusty bread, and the pièce de la resistance, chicken cacciatore, red sauce bubbling, smelling divine.

  They all helped themselves, but meagerly so. It seemed that they, like her, didn’t have much appetite. Both she and Layla remarked on how good the dish was, but both of them seemed to be just pushing it around their plates rather than into their mouths. Joseph at least seemed to be making some headway, valiantly helping himself to the virtually ignored salad and bread and just as valiantly chomping his way through it, although she could see it was with effort. That he was willing to put himself through this for her, for the times they had shared, touched her.

  “Music,” Joseph said suddenly. “I was telling you about Jim’s CD. I’ll put it on.”

  He looked grateful to have something to do other than eat.

  The first track of Jagged Shore filled the room—a soft, soulful tune, haunting almost. Jim’s gravelly voice was perfectly suited to the Celtic-influenced guitar and drum accompaniment. Tara smiled fondly as she continued to listen. Jim had always shown a talent for music, right from their primary school days.

  Layla was speaking to her again. “So, you and Jim grew up together in the same village. Is that right?”

  “Yes. There was a group of us that all hung out.”

  “That’s how I got to know Jim,” Joseph elaborated. “Tara and I used to go to Port Levine regularly to visit her parents. Whenever we happened to be in the pub—The Admiral, it was called—Jim would be there too, entertaining everyone with his guitar and some song he’d just written. We all sort of hung out together.”

  “I know. You’ve told me before,” Layla replied somewhat pointedly. Turning her attention back to Tara, she asked, “Do you know Hannah?”

  “Jim’s girlfriend?”

  “And my best friend.”

  Tara cringed. Layla was letting her know she had allies too.

  “Er, no, I don’t know Hannah. He met her when he moved to Trecastle, didn’t he? Joseph’s told me a bit about her, though.”

  Layla looked across at Joseph, her head to one side and one eyebrow raised as if questioning just what Tara had been told. For his part, Joseph was staring at the wine bottle again, a third one, the label on it clearly as fascinating as the first and second.

  Tara sensed it was time to divert the conversation.

  “This CD, it’s brilliant. Is the band doing well?”

  “Very well.” Joseph looked relieved—and proud. “They’re gigging all over the place now, getting themselves quite a following.”

  “That’s fantastic. Just in the UK or abroad too?”

  “In the UK mainly, but they’ve got some European gigs lined up too.”

  She was about to ask more, but Layla clearly wanted to divert the conversation further.

  “So, your parents,” she said. “They must be over the moon you’re coming back.”

  “They don’t know yet,” Tara admitted.

  “They don’t know?”

  “Not yet,” Tara repeated.

  “Wow! Another surprise.”

  Joseph intervened. “There was no problem booking you onto the flight, Tara. I even managed to get you a seat just across the aisle from us.” Looking at Layla, he added, “We’re both really looking forward to getting back to Cornwall, to seeing the gang again.”

  “Have you been back at all?” Tara asked.

  “I haven’t, not since we arrived in January last year. Layla has, but not to Cornwall—to visit her friend in Brighton, which is where she’s from. It’s about time we both paid a visit, though. It’s not as if it’s on the other side of the world, is it?”

  “No,” Layla muttered. “Tara’s the one from the other side of the world.”

  “Anyway,” Joseph continued doggedly, “we’re leaving on the Monday flight from Pisa and should arrive back in the UK just after noon. Jim’s coming to meet us at Bristol Airport, and he’ll drive us the rest of the way. You’ll be home in no time.”

 
Home. The thought of it both terrified and cheered her.

  “Are you going to tell your parents or just turn up on their doorstep?” Layla asked.

  Like I turned up on yours? The barb was clear.

  “I…I don’t know,” Tara replied. “To be honest, I hadn’t thought that far.”

  “Perhaps you should. Think that far, I mean.”

  Layla jolted suddenly. Had Joseph just kicked her under the table? Certainly Layla was glaring at him. Tara should really wrap this up, get out of here, fly back on her own—except wait; he’d already booked her ticket. The damage was done.

  Coffee was just as strained. Tara quickly drained her cup and then pleaded tiredness as a reason to leave early. It was not actually a lie; she felt drained both mentally and physically. Layla looked tired too all of a sudden, she noted.

  “I’ll walk you downstairs.” Joseph got up just as she did.

  “No, there’s no need…” Tara began, not wanting to cause more trouble than she had.

  “It’s fine. Layla doesn’t mind, do you, Layla?”

  A direct challenge, perhaps?

  “No.” Layla smiled sweetly—too sweetly. “Of course not.”

  Standing, she too came over to Tara and held out her hand. Such a formal gesture, considering they’d shared a meal together.

  Noting the coolness of Layla’s grip, Tara held her gaze. “Thank you, Layla. I mean it.”

  Layla faltered for a moment, softened almost, her expression merely curious rather than defensive as it had been all evening. But then she extracted her hand and turned back toward the table, starting to clear up the mess.

  Tara and Joseph walked to the front door in silence. At the bottom of the stairwell, they stood for a few moments more.

  “I’m sorry about—”

  “Layla will come round—”

  They looked at each other and burst out laughing. They used to do this a lot when they were together, speak simultaneously.

  “You go first,” he said.

  “No, you. I insist.”

  He motioned upward with his eyes.

  “Layla will come round. She’s…she’s just a little nonplussed at the moment. But she’s fine really. She’s a lot like you—feisty. I think you’ll get on, eventually.”

  Feisty? Tara supposed she could have been described that way once, but now all that fire that used to burn inside her seemed spent.

  “I’m sorry you can’t be honest with her. It’s just…”

  “Tara, we’ve discussed this. It’s fine. I understand the reason why, and Layla will too when I can tell her.”

  “My parents…”

  “I know, and I agree.”

  “And it won’t be long. Just a few more days, that’s all I need.”

  Before he could reply, the light clicked off, and the hallway was plummeted into darkness. Not total darkness: the moon was bright in the sky, and it seeped in through the glass window over the top of the front door. Neither hurried to turn the light back on. They just stood there, drinking each other in. At least she was drinking in Joseph, the shadow of his face transporting her back to happier, more carefree times. Her early twenties were wrapped up in this man.

  They had met in a pub in Hammersmith. Each was a friend of a friend—a setup, although it had been strenuously denied. No matter. As soon as she saw him, his dark-blond hair, his broad shoulders, his shy smile, she knew her friend’s instincts had been right—she was going to like him. And he liked her. They had hit it off straightaway, had moved in together within six months of knowing each other, had loved living London life—working hard all week, him as a carpenter, she in public relations, but spending weekends browsing round shops and markets. Camden Town in particular, hanging out in coffee shops, laughing with friends in pubs and bars. They would also walk through Hyde Park on Sunday afternoons, stopping only to feed squirrels and birds—so tame they’d come right up to you as you held out tidbits for them. It had been a simple life, a life she thought would continue, until wanderlust had set in.

  One of Tara’s all-time favorite movies was Point Break starring Patrick Swayze and Keanu Reeves. She loved the surfing scenes, that whole “life’s a beach” attitude, and particularly the last scene, with Swayze’s character, Bodhi, standing on Bells Beach in Victoria, Australia, watching the Fifty-Year Storm approaching, determined to be at one with the elements when it did. Coming from Cornwall, surf was in her blood, but she wanted more—vaster oceans, paler sands, and endless sunshine. Australia called and wouldn’t stop calling. Joseph loved his job, loved London, loved them more than her in the end. And her? She had her dreams to follow. Saying good-bye to him had been hard, though. The entire plane journey, she had wondered what the heck she was doing. As soon as she touched down in Sydney, she knew: the right thing. It was like coming home, better than anything she’d seen in the movies. Quickly she settled in, had started meeting people. Joseph was not forgotten, but he was consigned to the back of her mind as her new life took over, the odd postcard exchanged soon becoming no postcards at all. All contact lost. Until now. Now, some incredible twist of fate had thrown him back into her life.

  Reaching up a hand, she touched his face, running her fingers along the familiar contours of his jaw.

  “Thank you,” she said. Would he notice her eyes glistening?

  Joseph covered her hand with his and held it there for a few seconds.

  “Anytime,” he whispered.

  With great effort she removed her hand. She wanted to hold it there forever. Stay with him in the dark, removed from reality. But she couldn’t. Reality was waiting. Layla was waiting. Opening the door, she journeyed onward.

  “See you Monday,” she heard him call after her.

  Chapter Six

  DESPITE SCARLETT SCREAMING BLUE MURDER in her motorized swing—the same swing that promised to soothe baby into the land of sweet dreams, the swing she was considering taking back to Yummy Mummy and demanding her money back, this very afternoon in fact and with menace—Penny managed to focus entirely on Layla.

  “So, you’re flying back with her?” She had heard the first time, despite the crackling on the line between them, but she couldn’t help but double check.

  “Yep. Joseph even managed to get her a seat in the some row, if you can believe it.”

  Believe it? Only just.

  “And she’s got a secret, a secret you’re not allowed to know?”

  “That’s about the gist of it.”

  “Even though Joseph knows.”

  “Oh, yeah, he knows all right.”

  “Wow! That’s put the cat amongst the pigeons.”

  “The what?” There was that crackle again.

  “It’s something my Gran used to say. It means the situation you’re in, it sucks.”

  “It’s certainly different.” Layla sighed, a heavy sound.

  “What does Hannah think? Have you told her yet?”

  “Yeah, I’ve told her. Joe’s been in touch with Jim too. He’s coming to meet us at Bristol Airport. I spoke to Hannah early this morning. We’re crashing at theirs.”

  “What?” Penny almost choked. “Tara too?”

  “No, not Tara,” Layla quickly corrected. “She’s going to stay at her parents’. They live in a village along the coast a bit, Port Levine.”

  “Port where? Have we been there?” Penny asked.

  “No, it’s not really a tourist village.”

  “Oh, it’s a proper village, then.”

  “Yeah.” A mock derisory laugh from Layla—that was good. “One of those.”

  “So, what does Hannah think?”

  “She thinks it’s odd, like me.”

  “And me,” Penny insisted. “It’s very odd. If Joseph is in on this secret, then you should be too. He’s your boyfriend, not hers.” Another thought occurred to Penny. “Hey, you don’t think she’s on the run, do you? From the police, I mean?”

  “It had crossed my mind.”

  “Wanted for fraud, robbe
ry, or…”—Penny gasped, getting quite carried away—“even murder.” On another intake of breath, she added, “Layla, you could be in danger.”

  “I’ve thought about that too. I’ve even tried to check her out on the Internet. She lived in a seaside town not far from Sydney—Lyons Bay, apparently—but there’s nothing anywhere about any murderous single white female currently on the loose.”

  Penny’s shoulders slumped. “Oh, well, in that case, I think you should tell her to get lost.”

  “I can’t. He won’t…” Layla’s voice sounded small all of a sudden. “He…he’s asked me to trust him. He said he’d tell me why she has to come back soon.”

  “How soon?”

  “As soon as he can.”

  “Not good enough. I’d tell him to get lost too.”

  “Penny,” Layla admonished.

  “Oh, all right, all right, but do you, Layla? Trust him, I mean?”

  “Why shouldn’t I?” She was defensive now.

  “You tell me.”

  “I do,” Layla replied, but far too quickly. “The secret, it’s got nothing to do with him…apparently.”

  “You don’t sound convinced.” Penny decided to be honest with her.

  “No. I am. They haven’t seen each other in years. Why would it have anything to do with him? It’s just…”

  “It’s just what?”

  “It’s just when they split up, she was the one who left him, not the other way round. Although Joseph and I haven’t spoken about it much—you know what he’s like; he hates making a big deal of things—I know from Hannah that he was really cut up about it when he first moved to Trecastle. It was the main reason he moved there.”

  “Like you did because of Alex?”

  “Yes. And like me, it took him a while to get over it. Perhaps he still isn’t.”