The Memories That Make Us

by Vanessa Carnevale

  ‘I think I might be a bit underdressed,’ I say, looking down at my jeans and plain top. My face is bare of makeup, and I haven’t had a chance to properly style my hair. I’d brought a straightener with me, but I gave up on trying to use it weeks ago. ‘I thought you might have been thinking somewhere casual.’

  ‘You look fine to me.’ He pauses, eyes brightening. ‘Perfect, actually.’

  My cheeks flush as I turn my back and make my way into the kitchen. ‘Wait right there, I won’t be a sec,’ I call. I grab a bottle of wine from the cupboard, pour two glasses, and carry them out to Flynn, who is waiting for me in the living room. ‘I won’t be long.’ I hand him the TV remote and walk away once more. ‘Where are we going?’ I call out from my bedroom, as I try to find some decent clothes. I’d mainly only brought casual clothes with me from Melbourne, but I manage to find a white chiffon blouse with large black dots and a peter pan collar that would look okay with jeans. Deciding it’ll have to do, I slip it on and run a comb through my hair before wrapping it into a high bun. Earrings. Did I bring a pair of earrings with me? I check the dresser drawer, and find a box filled with jewellery. My fingers brush over a necklace with a heart-shaped pendant. Engraved on the back are the words, Love, Blake. I take out a pair of silver hoop earrings, and rest the pendant gently back in the box, taking a deep breath as it snaps shut.

  ‘Wow,’ says Flynn, a smile stretching across his face as I enter the living room. ‘I was only thinking the local pub, but now I’ve got somewhere better in mind.’

  We’re barely past the driveway when Flynn declares he wants to show me the Central Springs Reserve. ‘I think you’ll love it,’ he says. ‘It’s one of the nicest spots around here.’

  He drives as far as he can, parks the car and we walk towards a picturesque picnic spot, where signs point towards the various mineral springs and walking tracks that can be taken. We stroll past the spillway, where water majestically cascades from the lake into the reserve. We’re the only ones here, aside from a man walking his dog. He smiles at us and his dog, a Scottish terrier wearing a hand-knitted jumper, pulls on the lead towards Flynn, who bends down to shower him with affection. ‘Hey, boy,’ he says, ruffling the fur on his head. ‘What’s his name?’ he asks, looking up at the man.

  ‘Butters,’ says the man, smiling with fondness at his pet. ‘Loves making new friends, but he won’t stop pulling on the lead.’

  ‘Really?’ says Flynn, his interest piqued.

  ‘Yeah, going for a walk is like a tug-of-war,’ he replies.

  Flynn stands up and observes Butters for a few seconds. ‘First up, try changing his lead to a harness style. These ones here aren’t great for their necks.’

  The man nods.

  ‘Do you happen to have any treats with you?’

  The man produces a small paper bag from his pocket as Flynn reaches into his for a clicker, which is attached to his keys.

  ‘I could show you how to train him if you like,’ says Flynn. ‘Do you mind?’ he says, reaching for the lead.

  ‘Go for it,’ says the man, stepping aside.

  I stand back as Flynn works with Butters, demonstrating how to train him to heel. Flynn glances at me and winks, and as I watch him go through the motions, I become aware of how generous, and kind, and warm-hearted and attractive, Flynn really is. He’s in his element, smiling effervescently when, after a few tries, Butters responds by doing exactly what he’s supposed to.

  ‘You’re a quick learner, Butters,’ says Flynn, patting him affectionately, as the dog jumps up to lick him. Flynn hands the lead back to the man. ‘Work with him like this once or twice a day and he’ll be cooperating in no time. He’s a smart dog.’

  The man nods in gratitude, as Flynn gives Butters a final caress. ‘You did good, boy,’ he says.

  We say goodbye and continue strolling along the waterway.

  ‘Do you miss your job as a vet?’ I ask thoughtfully.

  ‘A little. Things are just on hold for now. I’ll go back to it eventually.’

  ‘You were amazing,’ I say, a hint of shyness in my voice.

  Flynn shrugs, and doesn’t answer straightaway. ‘You think I’m amazing?’ he says, teasing me. He glances over at me, waiting for me to reply.

  ‘You were amazing with the dog. And … sometimes you’re also amazing when you’re not around dogs, too.’

  He chews the inside of his lip in amusement. We continue walking until we reach a small stone bridge. Flynn sits down and lets his legs hang over the edge. I sit down beside him. ‘Look at all this,’ he says, motioning to our surroundings.

  ‘It’s so lovely here. If it’s this beautiful at the end of winter, imagine how beautiful it must be in spring,’ I say, stopping to take in the surroundings, the bubbling water trickling away below us. Watching it is almost magical. Mesmerised by the flow of something so simple yet beautiful, we’re drawn into a moment where time seems to have come to a standstill, and I can’t help feeling like I’ve been here before. My belly flutters with hope. I will a memory to surface, but even I should know by now that memories can’t be forced.

  ‘They say this is one of the most romantic spots in Daylesford,’ Flynn tells me. We are sitting so close to each other that our shoulders are almost touching. The back of Flynn’s hand brushes mine, and a rush of anticipation courses through me at the mere thought of his fingers intertwining with mine. This street, the stroll, the crisp air, the way flowers are starting to blossom—the total charm of this place makes it impossible to disagree with him. But the thing that perhaps makes it even more romantic, is the fact that I’m sitting here with him.

  There’s something I want to ask Flynn, something I’ve desperately been wanting to know the answer to since I left the hospital and found out I was … am … engaged.

  ‘What’s it like? You know … to fall in love? What does it feel like?’ I ask, staring into the distance.

  Flynn shifts his body closer to mine and looks earnestly at me. ‘Well, for some people it happens quickly—in an instant, like the flash of a camera, where the world lights up in a new and different way, and you just know. But for others, it can happen slowly, where you wake up and realise that you’ve met the person in your life that you want to spend every waking moment with. It’s like your heart becomes one with someone else without being able to explain it. When you laugh, she laughs, and when she cries, you feel like something in you has broken too. But the falling part? The falling part’s the best.’

  ‘I don’t think you can force it,’ I reply, fiddling with a eucalyptus branch. I twirl it between my fingers, tearing away each leaf as it becomes the focus of our attention. ‘You can’t really help who it is you fall in love with, can you?’ I say.

  ‘No, you can’t force it. But you can help it along.’

  I loosen my grip on a handful of leaves I’ve collected and watch them drift into the water, where they’re swept away. Finally, I look up at Flynn. ‘So, how do you know for sure?’

  ‘When you know, you know.’ He blinks at me slowly, deliberately.

  I nod silently and turn my body towards the stream. Sitting there, side by side, as we watch the ducks swim from one bank to the other, Flynn’s hand reaches for mine, closing over it as I let out a gasp, my mind immediately wandering to Blake. We sit in silence for what feels like minutes, as the ever-growing sense of guilt hovers in the air, weighing itself down on my shoulders like a tightly knitted blanket I can’t seem to shrug off. In the seconds that pass, I contemplate things as I try to put a lid on the sense of anguish that’s lodged itself in the pit of my stomach. If I don’t pull away, if I don’t stop this, I might lose everything I ever had, everything I ever wanted. But if I do stop this, I might lose everything I never knew I wanted. I inhale deeply and squeeze. Flynn squeezes back.

  I clear my throat. ‘You’re holding my hand.’ My voice is shaky.

  ‘Uh, yep.’ He turns his body towards mine. Slowly, a smile stretches across his face, the kind of smile t
hat matches the gaze in his eyes—a gaze that draws me in, deeply, purposefully, totally. I bite down on my lip, firmly placing a lid on those volatile feelings. I know if I say something, anything, it’ll ruin this moment, a moment that I never planned and never could have anticipated, yet can’t seem to walk away from. Flynn’s deliberate gaze draws me in further, reassuring me. I let my eyes meet his, allowing the unspoken words between us to hover. And the moment Flynn leans in closer, cupping my cheek in his hand and placing his lips on mine, something crumbles away. His tongue searches for mine, and as I return the kiss, unshackling myself from a past I don’t recognise, I surrender myself to something that seems so wrong, yet completely right.

  Back in the car, Flynn reaches for my hand. ‘You okay?’ he asks as he turns on the ignition.

  ‘I’m okay,’ I reply, staring out the window as we make our way to a restaurant out of town. Flynn leaves his hand on mine, with the other on the wheel, lifting it only to shift gears. My free hand reaches for my neckline—the place where Blake’s necklace might have been. I can’t help thinking about how he might react if he knew I was doing this—kissing and dining with and … falling for another man. All the sensations make sense. The flutters, the dizziness, the anticipation. The inability to concentrate on other things when he’s in the same room. It’s not something forced and it’s definitely not something I’ve chosen. But I still don’t know if that makes it okay.

  ‘If only I could read your mind,’ says Flynn, slowing down as we take one of the curves that leads us towards the restaurant.

  ‘I’m just thinking … about how complicated things are.’

  Flynn comes to a stop at an intersection and looks at me.

  ‘You made a choice to leave the city. When you made that choice, you didn’t know what you would find here. But something led you here and now, maybe you should focus on what’s keeping you here.’

  I swallow hard and try to avoid Flynn’s gaze.

  ‘Because there’s one thing keeping me here. And that’s you,’ he says softly.

  My cheeks flush and I let the window down to allow in some air. I exhale a long breath. ‘I’m attached to someone, Flynn.’

  He places his hand over mine. ‘I know that,’ he says, glancing over at me. ‘But I’m okay with it.’

  I frown. ‘But you should not be okay with this. What if I wake up one day and remember him? Then what?’

  ‘Then we’ll figure things out,’ he says reassuringly, like it’s not a problem that there’s another man out there—a man who is suffering because of me, a man who loves me, wants to be with me, is waiting for me.

  ‘How can you say that? Like it doesn’t bother you one bit.’

  We reach another set of lights and Flynn locks his eyes with mine. ‘So why aren’t you with him, Gracie?’

  ‘I can’t be with him. It just … doesn’t feel right.’ But this feels right. Being with Flynn feels unexplainably right. I let out another sigh, and rub my forehead, trying to make sense of things. ‘Being with you like this, means cheating on him,’ I whisper because I don’t want to admit it out loud. I don’t know what kind of person this makes me.

  ‘Does it? If you don’t remember him at all?’

  I don’t have a chance to respond, because an impatient driver toots his horn from behind us, disrupting our conversation, forcing us past that stop sign, over a line that I don’t think we can go back to without our lives being more complicated than they were before dinner.

  Portobello’s, the upmarket restaurant located on the main street in Kyneton, is a renovated historic brick building with white bay windows and a black-and-white sign hanging from above the doorframe. Beside the sign, an old-fashioned lantern lights up the doorway, like a spotlight. Flynn holds open the heavy wooden door for me as I step inside to the deliciously warm dining area. Here, the room is lit up with the soft glow of tea-light candles that are burning on the wall sconces, and the dim lights from the low-hanging drum chandelier wrapped in a black organza. The crackling fire provides a comforting warmth to the moderately sized room, where the cadence of voices is overshadowed by the laidback jazz riffs in the background. A waitress shows us the way to a table in the corner of the restaurant. Flynn pulls out one of the high-backed chairs for me before sitting down. It’s upholstered in a decadent shade of chocolate velvet and feels lush. From here we have a view of the quiet main street of the town that, like every other town around here, sparks no recollection of my former life. The waitress lights a thick pillar candle on the centre of the table before handing us our menus and telling us she’ll be back in a few minutes.

  ‘What are you thinking?’ asks Flynn as I stare out to the antique store across the street. ‘I know you’re worried about us … this.’

  I shake my head. ‘It’s not that. I mean, yes, I am worried about that, but I’m sure I’ve been here before. The reserve … this restaurant … I can’t really explain it—it’s more like a feeling, not a memory,’ I say, glancing around. ‘Never mind. I shouldn’t think about any of that. If I grew up around here, obviously at some point I’ve been here, and maybe instead of desperately trying to remember old ones, I should just focus on creating new memories, right?’

  ‘Actually, I’ve been thinking about that. I think we’ve established that you prefer apple cider over pear, and Lancashire hot pot over duck liver parfait, and a career with flowers over some soul-destroying job as a stylist, but there’s more you want to know, isn’t there?’

  ‘Mmm … I think so,’ I reply cautiously. ‘Where are you going with this?’

  ‘Now that you’ve committed to getting things happening with the farm, I think that just for a while, you should give this new life of yours a chance. Your interests, your preferences … and us.’

  The waitress returns with a stainless-steel jug and fills our glasses with water, and then pulls a small notepad from the front of her black apron, disrupting our conversation.

  I reach for my water and gulp it down in one go. The waitress throws me a curious look over her notepad before speaking.

  ‘Can I get you a drink? Wine?’ she asks.

  ‘Wine would be great, thanks,’ says Flynn, glancing over at me.

  I set down my glass, my thoughts flicking back to Flynn’s suggestion.

  ‘Red or white?’ she asks.

  Flynn raises an eyebrow.

  A hint of a smile crosses my lips.

  Just for a while.

  Just for a while I’m going to let myself forget.

  ‘Gracie?’ asks Flynn, locking his gaze with mine.

  I clear my throat and straighten up in my chair. Without looking at the waitress I reply, ‘I’m not really sure whether I prefer the red or white. So we’ll try both.’

  Flynn grins at me and points to the menu, selecting two bottles.

  ‘Okay,’ says the waitress, raising her eyebrows as she tucks away her pad and moves to the next table.

  Flynn leans forward. ‘You said you couldn’t remember what it feels like to fall in love.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I could show you. What I’m trying to say is, I’d like you to give me the chance to show you what it’s really like … to fall in love … with me.’

  My breath catches in my chest. The thing that Flynn isn’t aware of is the possibility that I already might be. He reaches across the table for my hand.

  ‘I know you’re in this weird place right now where everything feels like it’s a mess. Everything is unresolved and you feel like you don’t know how it will turn out,’ he says.

  I nod.

  ‘You were going to give things until the end of spring, right? Until you would go back home and work out what to do next.’

  I nod again.

  ‘So, here’s what I think you should do. Forget about the one thing you’re so desperate to remember, and for now, don’t feel guilty. Let me help you find all the stuff that makes you weak at the knees, the stuff that makes you smile, the things that you love about life and the
things that you don’t, regardless of before. And in the meantime, let me fall in love with you, because I’m crazy about you, Gracie Ashcroft.’

  ‘But what about him? What if I happen to wake up one day and remember him? Where would that leave you … or …’ I inhale deeply, ‘us?’

  ‘Then that’s going to be a good day for you. But like all things, don’t you want to push aside the what-ifs and go with what now? Because at the end of the day, what if you don’t?’

  Flynn has a point, but I still think what he’s saying is absurd.

  ‘How could you possibly be okay with that?’ I ask, shaking my head. The real problem, however, might not be whether Flynn’s okay with that, but whether I’m okay with this. I pour myself another water as the waitress sets two extra glasses on the table and delivers the two bottles of wine. Flynn pours wine from each bottle into four separate glasses and circles back to our conversation. ‘I think there are going to be risks. And there’s a strong chance I could lose you, but I’m willing to take the risk … Are you?’ he says.

  I hold back a splutter, the water washing down my throat the wrong way. It dawns on me that I could potentially lose both Flynn and Blake. But maybe Flynn’s right. Maybe it is the time for me to ask myself ‘what now’.

  Flynn waggles his eyebrows at me from behind his wineglass.

  ‘I think so,’ I reply, still not quite believing the words that have just spilled from my mouth. ‘But we need to go slow,’ I add.

  Flynn nods, and slides two wineglasses across the table: one red, one white.

  For a moment, I forget about yesterday. I forget about Blake’s letters. I forget that the past feels distant and the future feels scary. And for now, I choose the red wine, and try to forget that the wedding I cancelled is less than a month away.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Charlie meets me at the field gate at the agreed time, wearing a pair of loose-fitting jeans and a checked shirt rolled up to his elbows. He runs his thumbs under his braces before tipping his hat at me as I approach him.

  ‘Gracie,’ he says. He pulls a piece of paper from his pocket. ‘I was talking to some passers-by yesterday—locals. I was telling them about your plans here, about what you’re hoping to do. And I hope you don’t mind, but I got you some orders.’ He unfolds the sheet and starts reading. ‘Ollie Sanders—his mother’s in a nursing home, and there’s nothing she loves more than peonies in spring, so he’ll take a bunch a week through blooming season. Meredith Hollingsworth—she hosts a dinner party a week and will take whatever arrangement you can give her, as long as it’s bright and bold—no pastels for her. Mae from the bakery would love some for out front on Sunday mornings. And Dr Greenfield—she’ll take a regular bunch for the practice—says flowers always have a way of cheering up the patients. Lillian Bosworth says flowers remind her of her late husband, and since nobody ever buys her flowers anymore, she’d like to buy her own. So, there you go … hope you don’t mind, but I couldn’t help spreading the word. And, well, Tilly may have had a part in that, too,’ he admits, nodding thoughtfully.