by Nina Blake
Stefan felt he was talking to a brick wall. ‘Don’t you think I should be closer to the places that are more familiar to me? Hasn’t it occurred to you that there are things in Sydney which might help trigger my memory?’
‘You always loved New York.’
‘I don’t love it now. I don’t even know New York.’
His father looked him in the eye. ‘Will you at least consider it?’
‘I’m certain, that for the sake of my health and of getting my memory back, it’s best for me to stay in Sydney.’
Stefan had no doubts on that account. How could his parents suggest he move to an unfamiliar city, in another country? How could they possibly think that was the best thing for him?
His father looked down his nose. ‘She’s done it to you again.’
Stefan’s brow furrowed. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘You only moved here because of her. It didn’t matter how hard it was for you or that you were thousands of miles from home.’
‘She has a name, you know.’.
Claire, who had been sitting quietly, spoke up. ‘It’s okay, Stefan. Staying in Sydney was hard for you. You had to do further study to practise Australian law; I was the main reason you moved here but I didn’t force you.’
‘Darling, you don’t understand,’ his mother said to him. ‘If you two loved each other you’d still be together, but you broke up for a reason, because you weren’t getting along. You were arguing all the time and couldn’t live together. You didn’t love each other anymore. But we’ll always love you. Nothing can change the love of a mother for her child.’
They probably did love him, but it was a selfish love, one all on their terms. He wondered about the effusive hugs his parents had given him, wondered if they were from the heart or simply for show, because that was what parents were supposed to do.
Looking up, Stefan said, ‘That may be the case, but Claire is taking care of me now.’
‘She’s not good enough for you,’ his mother snapped. ‘She never was.’
James glared at his wife. ‘We said we weren’t going to go into that.’
‘Into what?’ Stefan enquired.
‘Please excuse me.’ Claire swivelled her legs over, preparing to stand.
Without turning his head, Stefan placed one hand firmly on her shoulder. ‘No one’s going anywhere.’ More than anything, Stefan didn’t want to be left alone with these people. ‘Claire, would you please tell me what’s going on?’
’This one’s going to do the same thing she’s always done,’ his mother said. ‘Twist our words so you believe her over us.’
‘Excuse me,’ Stefan said, with as much politeness as he could muster. ‘I’m asking Claire.’ He turned to face her.
‘Your parents have never been fond of me,’ she said. ‘While we were together they tolerated me, but after you moved out, your mother phoned me to tell me exactly what she thought of me. She made it clear they’d only been nice to me because of you, and that those days had ended.’
Barbara was indignant. ‘Of course, our first priority was always our son. Claire was only interested in you because of the money. That’s the only reason she married you and that’s why she’s here now. She blew it before, but this is her big chance to make it up to you again.’
‘That’s not true,’ Claire said, the hurt in her voice clear.
Stefan had seen their wedding photos—they had been a young couple in love. He’d seen no sign whatsoever that Claire was interested in his wealth or his future earning potential, only in his wellbeing. If she was trying to get his money, she was going about it in a very roundabout way.
He looked his mother in the eye. ‘Why don’t you like her?’
‘She’s never been good enough for you.’
‘Barbara,’ his father snapped, but she continued regardless.
‘You were always far ahead of her in so many ways: academically, socially, in every way. She’d be nothing without you. One step up from trailer trash, that’s what she is. She wasn’t brought up right, and nothing you do can change that.’
‘What’s wrong with the way she was brought up?’ Stefan asked.
Lips pursed, Barbara shifted her gaze to Claire.
‘I grew up poor,’ Claire said. ‘We lived in a little two bedroom house. I shared a room with my sister. We didn’t even have a phone until I was thirteen because we couldn’t afford it. I wouldn’t have gone to university without a scholarship. The same goes for Sophie.’
‘Being poor isn’t a crime,’ he said.
‘Tell him the rest,’ his mother insisted.
Claire sighed. ‘I told you my father passed away when I was twelve. Well, he died of liver failure. He was an alcoholic. That was why we didn’t have any money. Because he drank it all away.’
‘She came from a broken home,’ his mother added, as though he hadn’t understood it the first time. ‘With an alcoholic father. She might have a college degree but she’ll always be working class.’
Claire looked at him, her expression blank. ‘Your parents thought I was below you and always would be, but you loved me despite my background, despite where I’d come from.’
Despite her background? That didn’t sound right. Surely he’d have loved her because she’d managed to overcome such adversity.
Yet somehow he wasn’t surprised by any of this—Stefan could see where her strength had come from, her determination to do whatever needed to be done. She’d had to work hard for the achievements in her life. Wealth and privilege had not been served up to her on a platter.
‘She might have moved to a harbour-side suburb,’ Barbara said, ‘but she was always going to be the low class daughter of an alcoholic. Even after she got a law degree, she didn’t know how to make a good job out of it. She was earning a pittance and living off you.’
Stefan raised his eyebrows, his eyes glued to his mother’s. ‘And what kind of well-paying career have you had over the years?’
‘I was a full-time mother. I had my priorities straight.’ Barbara shifted her gaze to Claire and shrugged, adding, ‘It’s not personal. These are just the facts.’
Claire stood. ‘Well, it’s pretty damn personal for me.’
Stefan took to his feet, put his arm around Claire and pulled her close. He looked first at his father, then his mother. ‘Why are you doing this?’
‘I apologise for your mother’s outburst, Son,’ James said. ‘We want what’s best for you. We came back to help you.’
Yes, they came back after a week, when it suited them, and wanted him to uproot whatever life he had left. What kind of parents were they? His, unfortunately.
‘Do you have any idea what I’m going through, what this is like for me?’ Stefan felt his upper lip pull back in disgust. ‘Do you have any idea what it must feel like for Claire, to sit here and be insulted by the both of you? She doesn’t have to put up with this and neither do I. Next time, don’t bother coming if you can’t be civil. Goodnight.’
He left them, open-mouthed, at the table as he put his arm around Claire and they walked out.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Stefan said, as they walked out the door into the night air.
Seeing goosebumps on her arms, he took his jacket off and draped it across her shoulders.
She shook her head. ‘I should never have come.’ Claire kept her composure in the restaurant, but now he could hear the tremor in her voice.
‘I had no idea that would happen,’ he said.
‘I should have known, though. After we separated, they were very blunt with me, but I thought they’d got it out of their systems.’
Listening to the rhythmic click of Claire’s high heels on the pavement as they walked in silence, his mind quickly ticked over.
His parents had wanted to push him away from Claire—they’d made no bones about that—and they’d failed.
He’d spent a week with her already, and there was only more week until he was supposed to move back to his old apa
rtment. A week wasn’t a long time. He only hoped it’d be enough time.
No more Mr Nice Guy. No more taking it slowly. With the exception of that one evening, he hadn’t kissed her passionately the way he wanted to.
Those nights were over.
Chapter Twelve
Claire pushed open the door to her apartment and switched on the light, heaving a sigh of relief. She was home.
She slid Stefan’s jacket from her shoulders, tossed it onto a chair, and then slumped down on the sofa, head in her hands.
God, she was glad they were out of that restaurant. Claire didn’t want to go through that again. Ever. The most Stefan’s parents had ever done was tolerate her and now they couldn’t even manage that much.
Anyway, there was no reason for her to see them again. She and Stefan were separated and, as her ex-father-in-law had so kindly reminded her, she wasn’t family any more. Not that she ever had been.
From here on in, if Stefan wanted to see his parents he’d have to do it on his own. They were still his parents, and he should probably make another effort after he’d cooled down.
‘Here,’ Stefan said. Claire looked up to see him offering her a tumbler of whisky. ‘You look like you need this.’
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had hard liquor but the soft amber tones of the rich liquid were welcoming and looked too good to resist. ‘You read my mind.’ She leaned back into the sofa and smiled. ‘Except I hadn’t even thought of having a drink yet. You got there before my mind did.’
The first sip burnt the back of her throat, the second slid down much more easily. That hit the spot.
Sitting beside her, Stefan found himself returning her smile. ‘I’ve picked up a lot over the last week.’ He sipped his whisky, cradling the tumbler in his hands. ‘I don’t understand what happened back there with my parents. What were they thinking saying those things?’
His was a reasonable question under the circumstances, but she couldn’t explain what was going through their minds. She’d never understood them. They loved their son in their own way, and they certainly thought the world of him, but at the same time they could barely be bothered.
‘I can’t help you,’ Claire said.
‘The situation worries me. I don’t want to think I’m like them.’
She didn’t want to think that either, but had seen a different side to him before they separated, one she didn’t like. He’d get fed up and cut Claire down with a few choice words, and had made her feel she wasn’t good enough for him. The problems had come one another: Claire hadn’t liked classical music the way he did, didn’t have a refined taste for the arts, didn’t appreciate the finer things in life. Stefan’s list had been long.
Then there’d be the lengthy silences, times that made her wish he’d say something, anything, just to acknowledge her existence.
Stefan had always been arrogant. At some point, he’d become mean as well.
’You’ve always been a bit of a snob,’ Claire said.
‘Have I?’
He sounded surprised but that wasn’t going to stop her. ‘In some ways, you got more elitist over the years. When we first met, you were into rock and roll in a big way and had the most incredible CD collection. You still do. You used to listen and read up on the history surrounding the genre. You knew who played on which records and which musicians they’d played with, and all manner of other useless information. I used to tease you about it.’
‘What was wrong with that?’
‘Nothing. But then you decided your tastes had matured and that you were interested in more sophisticated pastimes. You got into opera, but deep down I don’t think any of it excited you as much as good old fashioned rock and roll did.’
He shrugged. ‘Maybe I liked both.’
‘Perhaps.’ But Claire didn’t think so.
‘Did you enjoy the opera?’
‘Not really. I just kept you company.’ She smiled. ‘I was always a rock and roll gal.’
Stefan turned to face her. ‘Please tell me I wasn’t as bad as my parents.’
‘You weren’t,’ she said, and it was the truth.
He looked relieved. ‘Enough about me. I want to know about you, too. You never told me your father was an alcoholic.’
‘I try not to think about it. Most of the memories I have of him are bad and even the good one are tainted. I remember when I was about five, he’d take me and Sophie down to the park to play and throw the ball. Simple stuff like that but I loved it. Bit by bit, though, he stopped taking us there or anywhere else. So, when I look back, I wonder why he stopped spending time with us, why he chose the bottle over us.’
‘Do you know why?’
‘I wish I did. But that was the good part, the good days.’
‘And when it got bad?’
‘He started knocking Mum around. Not in front of Sophie and me but we knew what was going on and it affected us,’ Claire said, frowning and looking down at her hands. ‘Mum tried to shield us but I started having headaches and nightmares and wetting the bed. Then one night, Dad got drunk and locked us out of the house. We slept under the back porch, with the three of us huddled up together. I was the lucky one because I was the smallest and got to sleep in the middle where it was warmest—not that we really slept. That night, Mum promised that would never happen again and she kept her word. The next day, she kicked my father out.’
Living without their father had made her mother more protective of the two girls, made her more determined to do her best and never let them down again.
Claire remembered confiding in her best friend about what had happened, but she hadn’t understood, hadn’t even come close. Years later, Sophie told her she had a similar experience when she’d tried to talk to a teacher about it. Even through the worst of times, though, Claire never felt like she was on her own. She’d always had her mum and Sophie. They’d drawn together because of it, had become closer.
‘Did you see your father again?’ Stefan asked.
‘Once or twice, when he came back to tell Mum he had it all under control. He begged for forgiveness but Mum turned him away. She had to; he hadn’t changed. He hadn’t given up the drink, never would have, and ended up dead a few years later at the age of forty-five. So you see, your parents don’t know the half of it—but they’re right, my family background isn’t exactly a sparkling example of respectability.’
Stefan slid his hand onto her thigh, his touch reassuring. ‘You haven’t had an easy run but your upbringing has made you stronger, made you willing to work harder for a better life. Even now, you could’ve chosen the easy path, pretended I wasn’t your problem.’
Abandoning Stefan like her father had abandoned her all those years ago was never an option. She knew what that felt like and wasn’t about to do that to Stefan, no matter what the end of their relationship had been like.
Stefan’s hand left her thigh as he reached for his glass. He knocked back a large mouthful before placing the empty glass on the coffee table, and then leaned back on the sofa, draping his arm across behind her.
The move made her feel like a teenager, a girl out on a first date at the movies with a shy guy who was just getting to know her. But Claire wasn’t a teenager anymore and Stefan had never been timid.
He held her gaze. ‘I don’t know about you but this evening has been exhausting. I need to wind down or I’ll never be able to get to sleep tonight.’
An understatement, if she’d ever heard one.
‘You’ve got that right,’ she added.
‘I could do with a hot shower. Or a cold one. I’m not sure which.’
‘There’s always the pool.’
Stefan’s eyes lit up. ‘The pool?’
Claire had almost forgotten. ‘Didn’t I tell you about it? On the rooftop.’
‘I don’t think you did.’ He leaned across for the whisky and glasses. ‘Let’s head up there.’
She nodded towards the bottle and stood. ‘I won’t have any
more to drink.’
Stefan placed the items back on the table. ‘Then neither will I.’
Taking her hand, he led her to the door, but she stepped back in to quickly grab his jacket and her keys.
‘I’m going to need both of these,’ Claire said. ‘It’s a cool night. We can take the stairs, as it’s just one flight up.’
When they reached the rooftop, Claire slid her key into the door and pushed it open. Stepping into the crisp night air, she slipped Stefan’s jacket over her shoulders.
He stood behind her, hands on her upper arms as he looked around. Claire felt petite and secure under his grasp.
Taking her hand, he stepped towards the edge of the pool. The water looked inviting, as it shimmered with the lights at the bottom of the pool. She’d always thought the pool looked glamorous at night, like it was a different world. I
With the deck chairs scattered on the paving and the potted silver birches shielding them from the city beyond, Claire felt like were at a resort. Only the fresh night air reminded her that this wasn’t a tropical paradise.
‘I feel much more relaxed already.’ Stefan turned to face her. ‘Can I swim?’
She giggled. ‘What kind of question is that?’
‘Can I swim?’ he repeated.
Realizing Stefan was serious, she said, ‘You swim like you do everything else. Magnificently.’
He grinned. ‘Well, I’m about to find out.’
Letting go of her hand, he unbuttoned his shirt, pulled it over his shoulders and tossed it onto the deck behind him.
‘What are you doing?’ she asked.
‘What does it look like I’m doing? Going for a swim.’
‘Now?’
‘Why not?’
‘Where are your bathers?’
‘I don’t need them.’
Claire stepped back to give him some room as he kicked off his shoes, socks and trousers, standing there before her in his boxers.
