A Girl Less Ordinary

by Leah Ashton

  ‘Ah. So noble of you,’ she said, and his eyes narrowed at the mocking lilt to her tone

  ‘And yet here you are, devastated because people will judge you for being more than the sum of the clothes you wear, your hair and your make-up?’

  ‘I’ve told you before,’ she said, her tone getting sharper by the minute. ‘Image is everything. My image was everything.’

  Jake took a step back, but somehow Ella knew this was no indication of him backing down.

  ‘What are you worried is going to happen?’ he asked.

  ‘I’ll lose my friends. Clients.’

  Everything.

  ‘Why? You can’t believe your only value is in your appearance?’

  ‘Why would I believe anything else?’ she said.

  Jake attempted another angle. ‘When you came to Sydney, what did you want?’

  She recited the familiar words. ‘Confidence. Polish. Success.’

  ‘And you’ve achieved them all.’ He rubbed his forehead. ‘I still don’t get it, Ella. So what if you’ve got some dorky photos in the paper? They don’t change what you’ve achieved.’

  He was never going to get it. He’d never understand what she stood to lose. If she acknowledged Eleanor, it would inevitably all flood back.

  Deep down, that was who she was. She was unpopular, unattractive and clueless. All that social failure and rejection was just waiting—lurking there beneath the surface.

  She was a fraud in glossy packaging.

  And if she wasn’t Ella any more, what did she have?

  She was Eleanor. In love with Jake Donner. And he didn’t love her back.

  She’d come a full, sad, pathetic circle.

  ‘You don’t have to be perfect, you know. Everyone has a past. Most of them awkward. Maybe this is a good thing, maybe this will help you let go a little—’

  ‘I think you should go, Jake,’ she interrupted, suddenly so incredibly tired. ‘It’s over.’

  ‘No, Ella, I can’t, you’re—’

  ‘What are you saying, Jake? It’s not over?’ Of course she had no doubt of the answer to that question.

  ‘I can’t do this, Ella.’

  He went to speak again, but she needed to get this out, for him to understand before he walked out of her life for ever.

  ‘You think I’m stupid to care about clothes, and make-up, and the colour of my eyes, because you think it’s all fake. You’re trying to tell me now that it doesn’t matter that I’ve got my old photos in the paper, but I tell you what, Jake, until I learnt all that stuff, I was alone. Now I’m surrounded by people. By my friends. And you know what? I don’t care if I’ve only got that through all that superficial stuff, as it’s a hell of a lot better than not having it at all.’

  ‘But can’t you see that it’s you, not your hair or your clothes that people connect with?’

  ‘So you’re telling me that if I got rid of it all, nothing would change?’

  He nodded. Bless. He actually believed that.

  ‘You’re so much more that what’s on the surface, Ella.’

  He couldn’t be that naïve. ‘Such pretty, meaningless words, Jake. Especially coming from someone with his own façade. You’ve built your own wall between the world and you. And you refuse to let anyone past it.’

  ‘Just because I don’t like the city and I’m not out night after night doesn’t mean I—’

  ‘No, Jake. You’ve let your screwed-up childhood warp your ideas of love and relationships and trust. So you’ve switched off your emotions, rather than risking experiencing them yourself. I can’t think of a better way to build a barrier between yourself and anyone who dares to get close to you.’

  He raised his eyebrows. ‘I thought you didn’t need anyone, Ella. That you didn’t need love.’

  She shook her head. ‘That’s what I’ve been telling myself. Unfortunately I’m beginning to realise that I can’t control my heart as well as my clothes, or my hair, or my make-up. I might not want love, but sometimes it just...happens.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Jake said, his voice urgent.

  ‘Oh, you already know, Jake. It’s why you ran away this morning. You don’t need me to put it into words.’

  Jake looked as if he didn’t know where to go. What to do.

  She waited and waited for him to speak, but he remained totally silent.

  ‘How about we put your theory to the test, Jake? That it’s me, that it’s Eleanor apparently that people want?’ She straightened her shoulders, then held her arms out wide. ‘Here. Here’s me. Ella slash Eleanor. Twenty-nine years old. I like books, movies, dancing and socialising. But here’s a little secret: I’m kind of plain without my make-up. My hair is this really boring pale shade of brown. Dark blonde, maybe, if you’re being kind. My eyes aren’t really green. I have to work really hard to maintain this weight. I reckon my body would be way happier with an extra ten kilos. I’m painfully shy. I needed to teach myself to socialise. I study fashion or I’d never get it right. Do you...’ she swallowed, her throat as dry as sandpaper ‘...want me?’

  Neither of them said anything for long, long moments. Long enough that she realised the TV was still blaring, blasting some totally inappropriately upbeat dance track into the silence that hung between them.

  ‘You’re not being fair, Ella. You and I have nothing to do with this.’ He shook the newspaper he still held roughly. ‘You and I won’t work because we both want different things. You want the city and I need the mountains. You want buzz while I want quiet.’ He paused. ‘You want love, and I can’t give it to you.’

  ‘Well,’ she said, after the longest time. ‘I guess that answers my question, then.’

  ‘No, no, it doesn’t. You never stopped being Eleanor, just that now you have a fancy name. You’re perfect as you are—you always have been. You need to trust me. Believe that.’

  But not perfect enough for Jake. Not perfect enough for him to even consider love.

  ‘I think you should go now,’ she said.

  This time he didn’t protest.

  Ella stared straight out of her window, her body stiff as a board, as she listened to him walk out of her apartment, and then, with that damn soft click of her front door behind him—out of her life.

  Only then did she start to crumple.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  HOURS later, Ella sat in her lounge room, alone with the newspaper article. She’d laid it on her coffee table, but wasn’t capable of reading it just yet. Instead, she sat cross-legged on the couch, with an oversized bowl of ice cream, untouched, on her lap. Occasionally she eyed the article warily, almost as if it would leap up and scream:

  FRAUD!

  Long ago she’d switched off the television. And she hadn’t bothered to turn on her iPod. Somehow silence seemed more appropriate.

  Her phone was switched to silent, too, and left well away in her bedroom. It had been buzzing, earlier. Text messages, missed calls. But she had no intention of answering them. Not today, anyway.

  Because she knew what the calls would be about, of course. Probably some journalists, possibly some shocked friends, although she figured that was less likely.

  A lot of people would think she’d lied to them. They wouldn’t want anything to do with her any more, and she really couldn’t blame them.

  She’d lost everything today.

  Her shiny, perfect, spectacular life.

  And, her love.

  Was it crazy that it was the loss of Jake that hurt the most? He’d been back in her life for two minutes, while she’d taken nearly a decade to build her world here in Sydney.

  Three weeks ago her business, her social life, her clothes—had meant everything to her. If anyone had asked, she would’ve said her life was complete. She had everything she’d always wanted.

  Confident. Polished. Successful.

  She’d had it all.

  But even without the damned newspaper article, without this ruination of all she’d worked so hard to achieve
, would that have still been enough for her?

  No, she realised, it wouldn’t have.

  Even without the unveiling of Eleanor the dork and the outcast, the shy girl, the plain girl, the invisible girl, the rejected girl...

  Even without all that, her life wouldn’t have been the same after today.

  Because Jake had ruined it, too.

  He’d made the so-called completeness of her life a lie.

  Every single thing she’d called Jake on—the barriers, the walls, the self-protection at the cost of real emotional connection—she was guilty of them all herself.

  She was no better than Jake up on the mountain in his turret.

  She was in her own. A rather trendy inner-city turret, complete with fabulous wardrobe—but a turret, nonetheless.

  And now she needed more.

  Ella dumped the ice cream in the sink, and walked slowly to her room.

  Perched on the edge of her bed, she picked up her phone.

  22 missed calls.

  47 new messages.

  Ella scrolled through them all, her stomach doing nervous somersaults. Searching, searching, searching...

  Even though she’d told herself not to hope—and that she didn’t want to hear from him anyway!—her heart got just that little bit heavier when Jake’s name didn’t appear.

  Except, that wasn’t who she was really looking for.

  It was Mandy. But there wasn’t a missed call from her. Or a message. Not one.

  Her shoulders slumped, and she stretched out her arm to deposit the phone back on her beside table.

  At least she had her butterscotch ice cream for company...

  No.

  She wasn’t going to do this any more. It was time for her to stop following her stupid, self-imposed rules, to finally, after far too long, let people back into her life. To let people in. To share her emotions.

  To risk rejection. To risk loss.

  To live.

  So, with fingers that shook, and the tears she’d cried for Jake still damp on her cheeks, she dialled Mandy.

  And held her breath while it rang.

  * * *

  The final week of the Jake Donner campaign was nuts. It had been planned that way. He had a conference presentation, an appearance at a trade fair and one final newspaper interview.

  Of course, now he had the added scrutiny of the tabloids, all desperately ravenous for the latest salacious piece of gossip. This time, he had no intention of toning down his infamous glare. Let the papers write what they wanted, call him what they wanted, but he was not going to smile and pose for them. His and Ella’s relationship was off limits. Full stop.

  Amongst all this distraction, he still had his actual job to do, too. And so, each day was long, and full—a blur of activity.

  About the only thing that wasn’t a blur were the rare occasions he allowed his mind to wander. Rare, because it seemed determined to wander in only one direction: Ella.

  Then his thoughts were crystal clear. All he would see was that image of her, wrapped in her multicoloured quilt, her shoulders bare, her hair all over the place.

  Absolutely beautiful, and absolutely perfect.

  Asking him to come back to bed. Asking him to stay.

  It didn’t matter how hard he tried, that image wouldn’t go away.

  And it would appear at the most inopportune moments. Like right now, on a Sunday afternoon, where finally he had a day free. There was no need to go into the office, as he’d had to yesterday. He didn’t even have one email to write. Or code to review.

  Today was a day he had completely to himself.

  So he sat on his balcony, comfy on the battered leather armchair he regularly dragged outside for this purpose, a beer in his hand, alone but for the view.

  It was the tail end of winter. Spring was trying really, really hard to impose itself, offering up a decent attempt at a sunny day. His dogs had stretched themselves out at his feet, their bellies exposed to the half-hearted rays.

  This was his definition of bliss.

  He stretched his legs out long, relaxed into the chair, and closed his eyes behind his sunglasses.

  Bliss.

  Bliss.

  BLISS.

  Yes. It was.

  He determinedly kept his eyes closed, and concentrated on relaxing. Waiting for the familiar shift—the moment his brain let go of the minutiae of the everyday and truly let go. Finally, it did.

  For about five minutes.

  This is all very nice and everything, but...

  It does get kind of boring after a while...

  Ella. Her words.

  He’d disagreed with her that day. He’d been unable to imagine ever agreeing with her. He loved it out here, loved the mountains, loved the silence.

  But today, it wasn’t the same.

  Today, he wasn’t just alone.

  Today, for the first time, he was lonely.

  His eyes popped open.

  What?

  He stood, and strode over to the balcony rail and gripped it, hard. Hard enough that it hurt his palms. Hard enough to force himself to think straight.

  This was his sanctuary. Ella called it a turret, but that hadn’t bothered him, not really. It suited him, having this place that was his, and certainly no one else’s. His space. His place.

  He needed it. This escape.

  But now it was ruined. He knew it, bone deep.

  It was never going to be the same. Ella had changed this place.

  Together they’d created memories here that touched everything.

  He couldn’t be in this house without thinking of her. He couldn’t walk on his own property without thinking of her.

  Jake stared out to the mountains. What now?

  Sell up? Buy another place? Another escape?

  Immediately he knew that wouldn’t work. Immediately he recognised what doing so would actually be: It would be him running away. Again.

  He’d run away from his past, years ago, when he’d left Perth. He’d told himself he’d been leaving his dysfunctional family and generations of inherited failure—and that had been part of it. He hadn’t been able to shoulder the circus that was his mother any longer. Her roller-coaster emotions, her absurdly declared love for him and the zero substance that supported it.

  But even back then he’d been running away from how he felt about Ella. From the depth of her emotions. From her need for him.

  He’d closed himself off, frightened by emotions he didn’t know how to handle. That he didn’t know if he could actually believe.

  But what had leaving achieved?

  Guilt.

  Now he knew why he’d never called Ella. Never reached out for her again.

  She’d been living in the same city as him for eight years and he’d had no idea. What a waste, what an awful, terrible waste...

  All because of his guilt. Guilt that he couldn’t handle what she’d needed from him. Couldn’t handle the volume and breadth of her grief for her mum, or her love for him.

  Was that why he’d closed off his emotions? Because if he allowed someone else to love him, he might fail them too?

  As he’d failed his mum when he’d left. As he’d failed Ella.

  But now—he was about to do it again.

  But this time it was worse. This wasn’t some teenage crush he was throwing away.

  This was love.

  He loved her.

  He had to repeat it a few times in his head, then, finally, aloud, before the reality sank in. Really sank in.

  And he didn’t feel suffocated, or panicked or pressured.

  He felt...right.

  It was an immoveable, inescapable truth that he was in love with Ella.

  And he needed to fix things.

  Fast.

  He called her, immediately, but she didn’t answer.

  She wouldn’t, he realised. Nor would she open her door to him.

  He needed a Plan B.

  * * *

  A week later,
Ella and Mandy relaxed in wicker chairs at Bathers’ Pavilion on Balmoral Beach. Sun streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, and an early morning breeze worked its way determinedly through the louvres. Before them sat their half-finished mountains of blueberry pancakes and, beyond that, glorious views of Middle Harbour all the way to the Heads.

  ‘So, brown eyes today, then, Ella?’ Mandy asked, meeting Ella’s gaze over the rim of her cappuccino.

  Ella nodded. ‘I felt like a change,’ she said, although that wasn’t entirely it.

  Of all her memories of Jake—one seemed particularly reluctant to be dislodged.

  Oh, who was she kidding? Her subconscious would overflow with Jake—images, words, sensations—the instant she let her guard down even the littlest bit.

  But one memory leapt forward more often than the others.

  She was lying on a quilted blanket, surrounded by the noisy silence of the mountains. Above her was Jake, looking at her the way no one ever had before. And her eyes had been brown.

  Was it stupid to hold onto that memory and to throw away her green contacts so she was reminded of Jake whenever she looked in the mirror?

  Yes, undoubtedly.

  But, she wanted to hold onto that moment. That moment when she’d felt free, and when anything had seemed possible. Where, fleetingly, she’d felt truly beautiful.

  ‘It’ll get easier,’ Mandy said.

  Ella gave a little shake of her head. ‘I know.’

  But it was going to take a heck of a long time. At least another thirteen years, Ella reckoned.

  ‘We should go out dancing next weekend, maybe? To take your mind off things?’

  Ella couldn’t quite believe what had happened since that newspaper article had been printed two weeks ago.

  She hadn’t got it all wrong—she’d shocked a lot of people. And hurt people too, people she’d known for years who’d only just found out how little they truly knew about her.

  But from amongst the huge number of people she’d called her friends, a smaller number had risen to the surface. Real friends, people who’d ached for her, for her public humiliation, and, more importantly, for the sadness from her past, and the recent pain because of Jake.

  Eleanor had been revealed, and yet Ella had been left far from alone.

  Picture Perfect had even had a record week of new clients. Who would’ve guessed?