The Patterson Girls

by Rachael Johns

  If those two couldn’t work things out, what hope did anyone else have?

  Madeleine looked as if she’d just eaten something way past its use-by date. ‘It’s just a coincidence. I don’t know what the deal is with Lucinda and Joe—that’s weird, I’ll admit—but you and I haven’t been trying long enough to make any such assumption.’

  Abigail wanted to believe this wisdom, but couldn’t ignore the uneasiness that sat in her gut like a big ball of dried cement. She thought back to that day they’d had that run-in, or whatever you’d call it, with the old hermit woman. Something about Wanda, or Lorraine or whatever her name was, had chilled her to the bone. ‘Maybe,’ she said, knowing if she spoke her thoughts Madeleine would think her silly. ‘So were you serious about lending me the money for a plane ticket home?’

  Madeleine didn’t say anything for a moment and Abigail hoped she hadn’t changed her mind. ‘On one condition.’

  ‘Anything.’ If Nigel told Daniel what a fruitcake she was, he probably wouldn’t want her teaching Livia anymore and word would spread pretty fast to the rest of her students. And besides, what was there for her in London if she didn’t have him?

  ‘You’ll fly home via the States and pick me up on your way. We’ll fly from here together.’

  ‘What? You’re coming home again too? For how long?’

  Madeleine shrugged. ‘Maybe indefinitely. I’m going to hand in my notice. If you and Lucinda can be unemployed for a while—besides the motel—why can’t I?’

  ‘Uh … because you are the biggest workaholic I’ve ever met in my life.’

  ‘Pot-kettle-black.’ Madeleine smiled. ‘You were pretty damn close, Abigail.’

  ‘Yes, but I got sacked. I didn’t quit.’ Abigail wondered if there was something alcoholic in Madeleine’s can of soft drink. ‘Are you sure you know what you’re doing?’

  ‘Look, I’m not saying I’m going to move back to Meadow Brook and change bed sheets for the rest of my life, but I think a little holiday between jobs—a time to hang out with my sisters again—could be just what the doctor ordered.’

  Abigail snorted with laughter. ‘I give you a week.’

  ‘You’re probably right, but there are hospitals in Adelaide. I’ll put my feelers out and see if there’s anything for me over there. Losing Mum and then this fiasco with Hugo and Celia has made me realise what’s important in life. It’s you, Charlie, Lucinda and Dad. Family is what matters. And it sounds like Lucinda needs us right now, or at least Charlie needs us to help with Lucinda.’

  Abigail allowed herself a tiny smile as she thought about the emails Charlie had sent concerning Lucinda. ‘Wow. You’re really going to do this.’

  Madeleine nodded. ‘Yes, I really am.’

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Lucinda sat on the floor in the middle of the bar, all the motel’s glassware surrounding her. She picked up a shot glass and scrutinised it, frowning at the smear marks around the rim and the dust that had collected in the bottom. Mum would turn in her grave if she saw the state of these glasses and Lord knew who would buy the motel in such a state. The only ones that looked clean were the few beer and wine glasses they used regularly. Dad and Mrs Sampson had been keeping things ticking along and Charlie had thrown herself into sprucing the place up a little, but Lucinda couldn’t help but think it was a good thing she was here to take proper control.

  If Dad was serious about selling the place, they couldn’t just rest on their laurels and wait for someone to come along and throw money at them. She sighed and stood, picking up the first crate of glasses and taking it into the kitchen to start washing. She turned Rob’s radio to a local station that was playing mostly eighties songs to try and drown out her thoughts, but no matter what she did, her mind kept drifting to Joe.

  They’d spoken once in the two weeks she’d been away and it had been terrible. Simply needing to hear his voice, she’d called to remind him to put the council bin out and ask the neighbour to bring it in because he’d be heading off to work.

  ‘I’m not an idiot, Lucinda,’ he’d snapped.

  ‘I would never think that; I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.’

  He snorted. ‘I’m not okay. Are you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well then …’ Silence had followed as Lucinda waited for Joe to ask her to come home, but he didn’t and as much as she’d wanted to beg him to take her back, she knew their problems still loomed large. Although she missed him as she would a limb, she couldn’t truthfully tell him she didn’t still crave a baby. Part of her believed this was a flaw and that she was in the wrong; she wished she could push aside the dream and just get on with her life, but she hadn’t yet worked out how to do that.

  ‘I’ve gotta go,’ Joe had said eventually and neither of them had called each other since.

  Should she suggest marriage counselling? Joe still sounded so angry; maybe he needed this time apart as much as she did. She only hoped the old saying ‘Absence makes the heart grow fonder’ was true. And not ‘Out of sight, out of mind’. Worried about this possibility, she’d taken to emailing instead. So far he hadn’t replied—he was away at work again so she didn’t even know if he was checking his emails—but she felt a little better keeping some kind of communication lines open.

  She didn’t write about anything serious, nothing about babies or their marital woes or even instruction about house matters; instead her nightly emails were a little like writing in a journal at the end of the day. Sometimes it was only a couple of lines, other times she wrote pages, filling him in on the jobs she’d done in the motel, attaching photos of Charlie’s improvements and speculating on the relationship between Dad and Mrs Sampson. She imagined Joe reading her ramblings and laughing in the manner he used to do every evening when she told him about her day at school. He’d always loved hearing about the funny things kids said. Well, she had none of those things to pass on now but the patrons that came into the bar at night and the guests at the hotel provided fodder enough.

  Writing to him felt like a kind of therapy. It made her feel closer to him and eased her anxieties about whether he was coping. She didn’t need to worry about what he’d be eating or whether his clothes would be washed, because Rosa would take care of all of that. That’s if Joe had told his family about their separation. She could just imagine Rosa’s dramatic response, as if their rift was a personal insult. No doubt she’d said a few Hail Marys over the possibility of the first-ever Mannolini divorce and then started plotting Lucinda’s replacement with a nice Italian girl. One with child-bearing hips.

  ‘Hello, love, what are you up to?’ asked Mrs Sampson, coming into the kitchen and jolting Lucinda from her depressing thoughts.

  ‘Oh, just cleaning,’ she said, pushing up her sleeves that had fallen again and were at risk of getting wet in the water. ‘I’ve made a list of all the things that need spring cleaning and I’m tackling them one at a time.’

  Mrs Sampson frowned. ‘I didn’t think the place was a complete dump.’

  Lucinda felt immediately guilty. To Mrs Sampson, who worked hard and did her best to keep everything in order, her words must have felt like a slap in the face. But although she was a great housekeeper, one woman could not be expected to handle the day-to-day cleaning as well as the nitty-gritty stuff. ‘It’s not. I just thought I should do my bit while I’m hanging around.’

  ‘You’re more than doing your bit.’ Mrs Sampson chuckled, not appearing to have taken the slightest offence. ‘After your spring clean in the office yesterday I’m not sure your father knows where to find anything.’

  ‘I’m being a pain, aren’t I?’ Lucinda sighed, her shoulders slumping.

  ‘No, you are most definitely not. The office has never looked so good and Brian will get used to it.’ She tugged Lucinda’s hands out of the water, drying them with a tea towel as if she were a little child. ‘But I think you deserve a break. Why don’t you come down the street with me and have some coffee and cake at Rosie’s
?’

  The thought of Rosie Jean’s delicious homemade creations made Lucinda’s tastebuds dance a jig, but she wavered. Since returning to the motel, she’d barely stepped outside, never mind made an appearance in town for fear of the field day the local gossips would have over her return. Although she’d asked Charlie, Mrs Sampson and Dad to tell everyone she’d simply come back to help for a while, she guessed tongues would be wagging with speculation. Then again, they’d talk more if she barricaded herself in the motel as if she had something to hide.

  ‘Who will look after the motel?’ she asked.

  The older woman chuckled. ‘Brian’s in the office and Charlie’s around somewhere. It’ll be fine.’

  ‘I don’t want to talk about Joe,’ Lucinda warned, worried that once her old friend asked a few pertinent questions or offered any kind of sympathy, she’d completely let loose. And she didn’t want the local gossips hearing about the Facebook stalking she’d been doing the last few nights. Thankfully Joe’s status still showed him as married.

  ‘It’s a deal,’ Mrs Sampson promised. Then, as if she’d been reading Lucinda’s mind, she added, ‘We can listen to local gossip instead.’

  ‘Guess who?’

  Charlie startled as large, warm, lightly-calloused hands covered her eyes and a familiar body pressed itself up against her back. Slowly, her lips curled into a grin and she turned her head and planted them on Mitch’s. She’d been working hard retiling one of the bathrooms and had the music up as loud as she could while still being mindful of motel guests. But she was glad to see him and she made sure he knew that as she discarded her tools and wrapped her arms around him.

  ‘I thought you were away for another night.’

  ‘I pulled a few strings so I could come home early.’ He leaned his head against her forehead. ‘Missed you.’

  ‘Missed you too.’

  ‘Looks like you’ve been busy though.’ He gestured to the new tiles lined up along the vanity.

  ‘I’m hiding from Lucinda,’ she explained. ‘She’s on some insane cleaning crusade. Nothing is safe. If I sit down for a second, she’ll give me a job to do. I’d rather choose my own.’

  He chuckled. ‘Her way of coping, I guess.’

  ‘Yep.’ Charlie sighed sadly. ‘I keep trying to talk to her about Joe, but she shuts me down and starts talking about something else that needs cleaning or fixing.’

  ‘Give her time. She’ll come to you when she’s ready.’

  ‘That’s what Madeleine and Abigail say—I’ve been emailing them updates—but I feel so helpless.’

  ‘I dunno, I reckon you feel pretty damn fabulous.’ Mitch grinned wickedly and skimmed his hands over her breasts, squeezing gently. Desire flared within and she let out a little sigh of bliss. To think of all the years she’d missed out on this. Well, they were making up for lost time now.

  Dipping his head to kiss her again, he ripped off the bandana that had been holding back her hair and she squealed as it floated to the floor. It was impossible to misread his intentions and she loved where this was going, but …

  She nodded towards the open door. ‘What if someone finds us?’

  Mitch tugged her out of the bathroom, shoved her playfully onto the bed and went over to shut the door. ‘It’s locked.’ He turned back towards her and ripped his hoodie and t-shirt up over his head.

  For a second she forgot to breathe. He really was a thing of beauty, his upper body perfectly sculpted from all that lifting of heavy wood and wielding of big machinery. Yet, as he lowered himself onto the bed beside her, she shot up into a sitting position. ‘There’s a master key.’

  ‘Live a little, Charles.’ He whispered the words as he put his hands on her shoulders and gently eased her down onto the pillows. There weren’t many but her libido gave no thought to comfort as it kicked into overdrive.

  She gazed up into his beautiful brown eyes, skimming her hands over his lightly stubbled jaw and inhaling the raw male scent of him as he covered her body with his. Despite his jeans and all her clothes between them, she could feel his erection pressing against her belly and she wanted it more than she wanted to breathe. Totally in tune with her needs, he stripped her of her clothing, teasing, touching and tasting her all over as he did so. When he too was naked and they were both aroused beyond belief, he rolled over to the edge of the bed and pulled a condom from the back pocket of his jeans.

  They’d done this so many times now that they knew exactly what each other wanted, yet each time felt new and even better than before. Charlie felt an intimacy with Mitch that she’d never had with anyone else before and it wasn’t just the sex. Their souls were in tune as well. He completed her. For years she’d drifted, job to job, one guy or girl to the next, without feeling much purpose, but realising her love for Mitch had changed all that. She still had to pinch herself occasionally to make sure it wasn’t all some lovely dream.

  ‘Have I told you how much you rock my world?’ Mitch asked, running his fingers through her mussed-up hair as he stared down at her.

  Their hearts were still racing, their bodies still slick and he was still inside her, exactly where she liked him.

  ‘Maybe once or twice.’ She ran her hand up and down his bare back, savouring the feel of his hot, smooth skin. There was something quite intoxicating about creeping around behind everyone else’s back.

  Although Mitch had made it clear he wanted to tell the world about their hook-up—take out an advertisement in the local rag, throw a party, shout it from the rooftops or at the very least tell their families—Charlie had convinced him to keep it secret for the time being. If he told his dad, or Kate and Macca, someone would slip up and this was a small town so pretty soon everyone would know. And she didn’t feel right about flashing around her happiness when Lucinda’s relationship was on the rocks.

  All that aside, this thing between them was so new that she wanted to enjoy it before she invited everyone else to the party. She was certain most people would be thrilled; even Mitch’s dad, who’d kind of warned her off, would come round when he realised how serious they were about each other, that this wasn’t some passing fad. They weren’t planning on breaking each other’s hearts—in fact it was totally the opposite. In the couple of weeks since they’d admitted their love and consummated their union, they’d made some grand plans for a future together. Mitch had said he’d move to Melbourne if that’s where Charlie saw her life being, but she’d made it clear that Meadow Brook with him was where she wanted to be.

  Chapter Forty

  Dearest Nigel

  I know I’m not your favourite person at the moment and I know you don’t owe me anything, but please read this to the end. There’s nothing I can say to make up for what I did. You were right, trying to get pregnant without your knowledge was unthinkable and unforgiveable. And although I regret what I did and how our wonderful time together ended, I will never regret being with you. Without knowing it, you lifted me out of a dark, dark hole and helped me see the hope in my life again. You encouraged me to take up teaching and because of that push, I’ve discovered a love of something I’d never have imagined. I’m even thinking about doing further training and getting my teaching degree. You brought the passion back into my life in so many ways and I hope with all my heart that you’ll find happiness again with someone who truly deserves the good person that you are.

  Love always,

  Abigail.

  After a number of attempts at writing to Nigel, Abigail folded this piece of pretty writing paper in half and slipped it inside a large envelope that also contained a CD of some of her favourite violin pieces. Tunes that, should he ever listen to them, would take him right back to their naked violin sessions. She wasn’t stupid enough to think that listening to the music or reading her feelings on paper would change anything, but she couldn’t bear to leave without giving it one last shot.

  Over the last week, she’d tried to call him a number of times, gone round to knock on his door twice and messag
ed him maybe ten or fifteen times a day. Despite Madeleine’s generous purchase of a ticket back home, leaving Nigel behind was proving to be the hardest thing she’d ever done. Much more painful than walking away from the orchestra. When he hadn’t responded to any of her attempts at communication, she’d even contemplated storming into his workplace and demanding he listen to her until she made him see sense.

  They shouldn’t let one little mistake—okay, one giant mistake—ruin what could be a lifetime of happiness together.

  But then she’d stumbled upon an article someone had shared on Facebook about people being stalked by crazy exes and she’d finally admitted defeat. No matter how broken her heart, she needed to walk away with as much dignity as she could cobble together from this horrible situation. She didn’t want Nigel thinking she was even more of a nutcase than he already did.

  With a sigh, she pushed back her seat and stood, slipped the envelope into her massive shoulder bag and surveyed the room. Balls of scrunched up paper littered the floor but aside from that you could barely tell anyone had ever slept here. The bed was stripped, her linen and cushion collection given to Oxfam, her trinkets and wall hangings already shipped back to Australia. All that remained was the bare furniture that came with the room, her violin and her two suitcases packed and ready for her flight in a couple of hours.

  A lump formed in her throat at the thought that her time in London could be erased so easily. She’d been there almost two years, half of that with the orchestra, but it was memories of the last six months with Nigel that would stay with her forever. And, surprisingly, the time she’d spent teaching her eager little students. Telling her kids and their parents that she was heading back to Australia for ‘family reasons’ had nearly broken her heart all over again. Little Leila cried and Daniel and Liane refused to take the refund she’d offered on Livia’s tuition fees, making her suspect that Nigel hadn’t told them the real reason she was fleeing London.