‘Uh, yeah … sure. You’re going to Melbourne this weekend, though? As in tomorrow?’
‘Yeah, I thought I told you. I need to take care of some things.’
‘You didn’t tell me.’
I’d been planning on visiting Melbourne myself this weekend, but I decide not to bring it up, and that I’ll go the following weekend. Bringing up my confrontation with Blake has been awkward enough lately. So, hopefully, by the time next weekend rolls around, the door that I want closed will close, and I can leave the past that I don’t remember completely behind me.
We don’t end up staying in, but we do arrive at The Old Mill much later than we’d planned to. As expected, Flynn is starving. We order a range of different plates, after which I declare that I hate the taste of rabbit, find risotto overly filling, but could eat loads of asparagus and pumpkin if you’d let me. Especially if they come in a pie. As far as dessert is concerned, I could easily pass on banoffee pie, let myself go wild over pavlova, but prefer to steer clear of anything resembling a panna cotta.
With our bellies full, and an early morning ahead of us, we loop arms and walk down the gentle curving road to the car, which we’ve purposely parked about a kilometre down the road.
Maybe it’s the wine, or the fact that I mixed wine with cider, but as we walk to the car, I find myself thinking about Flynn and the future—our future. I’ve been so focused on the harvest, on getting Summerhill to the point where I can stay, that the topic of Flynn and how long he might be planning on staying here hasn’t really crossed my mind until now.
‘Do you plan on going?’ I blurt without meaning to.
‘Going where?’ asks Flynn, looking strangely at me.
‘Leaving Summerhill. Going back to your old life.’ Now that I’ve started speaking, I can’t seem to stop. ‘You have a clinic, which you barely ever talk about, and now that the harvest is coming up, I just wondered what your plans were. Are you planning on moving back to the city?’
Flynn stops in the middle of the street and looks up at the stars. ‘I don’t want to leave. But I might have to.’
My breath catches in my chest. ‘You’re leaving?’ I say, not quite sure that I’ve heard him properly. I didn’t expect him to have this answer at the ready.
‘I didn’t say that. It’s just that I’ve got a life back in Melbourne that I need to—’
‘What do you mean by that? A life?’
‘You know I’ve got a business in the city, Gracie,’ he says, his voice uneven. Flynn seems unusually on edge, giving me reason to think he’s given more thought to this than I have.
‘Is that it? Just a business,’ I say, the scepticism in my voice obvious.
‘God, what do you think? Of course, just a business. A lease that’s almost run out. Friends. Some family. But nobody else, if that’s what you’re wondering.’
I bite the inside of my lip. I don’t know what to think. ‘Then why don’t any of your so-called friends or family come to visit? Aside from Olivia?’
He doesn’t answer me. Instead, we both look up to the sky as the thunder rolls in, and make a run for the car.
When I wind down the window and the earthy smell infuses the car, I know the storm is going to be a bad one.
‘We’re going to finish that conversation,’ I say, crossing my arms.
‘You’re looking too much into things, Gracie.’
My attention turns to the trees we’re passing, that are wavering in the howling wind, bending and stretching in ways they shouldn’t be. My body stiffens, bracing itself for the worst. Flynn and I never got a chance to finish setting up the windbreaks.
‘I didn’t check the weather report,’ I say flatly.
‘We’ll be home by the time it hits,’ says Flynn, his eyes on the road. It’s pelting down now, and the wipers are struggling to keep the window clear from the wet.
‘Can’t you go any faster?’ I ask, trying to keep my voice level.
‘I can barely see what’s in front of us,’ he says, braking.
I let out a sigh and grip my seat, unable to think of anything but the fields.
After what feels like hours but in reality is only a few short minutes, Flynn pulls up the driveway and says, ‘Hold on, I’ll get an umbrella,’ only it’s too late. I’m already out of the car, the heavy rain splattering against me. He calls out to me, but I don’t hear him properly because I’m making a run for the fields.
My jacket catches on a nail on one of the wooden posts, ripping as I forge ahead through the wind and rain. Eventually, I reach the first field of peonies. It’s the sweet peas I’m mostly worried about; in this tender infant stage, they’re way too fragile and in too much of an exposed position to be able to survive this kind of weather. I sprint across the field until I reach them. Stakes are down, netting dislodged. All that work … A moan escapes me and all I can do is sink to my knees, joining the flattened mess in front of me.
‘No!’ I call out into the night.
Nobody hears me but Flynn.
‘Gracie,’ he says, his hands pressing against my shoulders. He crouches down beside me, a soggy carpet of mud beneath us. ‘It’s going to be okay,’ he says, framing my face with his hands. I can barely make out his face in the rain like this, but he pulls my body towards his, so I’m resting my cheek against his shoulder. And we sit there, in the rain, watching the world around us turn sour, until the rain relents, and all that is left is one big mess we’ll have to clean up in the morning. ‘Everything’s going to work out,’ he whispers. And despite the disaster of the evening, in that moment of being held, of feeling his heart beating against me, I want to believe him, but I don’t quite know if I do.
That night, I bring myself to call Scarlett.
‘Sorry to be calling so late. I couldn’t sleep.’ My fingers rub the neckline of Blake’s t-shirt.
‘Talk to me,’ she says, her voice groggy.
‘We’ve had a bad storm and I’ve been working on the garden lately. I think there might be a lot of damage to the flowers I’ve planted,’ I say, without going into too much detail about the farm.
‘Chin up—you can always replant things,’ she replies.
‘Mmm, it’s more complicated than that,’ I murmur.
‘Something else on your mind?’
‘How can you possibly know that?’
‘I’m your best friend. It’s my job to know that,’ she says playfully.
‘I’m in love with him.’
‘Who are you in love with, Gracie?’ she asks, sounding more awake.
‘Flynn. You know—my neighbour.’
‘Flynn?’
‘The guy you met when you were here. The guy you were acting so weirdly around …’
‘I know who he is,’ she says, her tone serious.
‘Right. Well, it felt right. Like we somehow fit together. And as annoying as he can be, there’s something about him that makes me feel the way I do even if I can’t pinpoint why, and I think I’m—’
‘Oh my God. You’re in love with him,’ she repeats, disbelief apparent in her voice.
‘I didn’t mean for this to happen, it just did and now I’m worried that I’m going to lose him—that he plans on moving back to the city.’
‘Unbelievable,’ she whispers. ‘This isn’t right.’
A rush of panic sweeps through me. Telling Scarlett about my feelings possibly isn’t the best move.
‘I know, but I can’t help it. When I’m with him, I feel like myself. I like being with him. Love being with him.’
‘That’s not what I mean.’ She pauses. ‘He’s not who you think he is,’ she says finally.
‘What do you mean?’ I say in shock as her words sink in. ‘Is this why you were acting strangely around him when you were here?’
‘No. I mean, yes, it’s just …’ She lets out a loud sigh.
‘Just what, Scarlett? Who is he? Do you know him? Is that it?’
There’s silence on the line.
�
�Where do you know him from?’
Still no answer.
‘Scarlett!’ I say, more assertively now. ‘You know him, don’t you? How do you know him?’ Goosebumps spread across my arms.
‘Gracie, please … just leave it.’
‘Is he an ex-boyfriend? A friend of Blake’s? What?’
‘You should not be asking me this. I don’t want to lie to you.’
‘Then don’t.’
‘It’s not my place to tell you—you’re going to need to talk to your neighbour.’
A sinking feeling stirs in the pit of my stomach.
The last thing I want is to be lied to.
The spring sky is moody, mirroring the way I’m feeling about life today. Even the sky seems confused. Sunbeams poke through masses of thick clouds before disappearing, lighting up the world for a split second before fading away as the horizon darkens with strokes of smudged graphite.
‘It won’t be as bad as you think,’ says Charlie as we make our way to the fields.
Only it is worse. It’s much worse.
‘What’s the damage?’ he asks, directing his question to Flynn, who is already in the field, stepping over the fallen stakes, trying to assess things.
‘We lost half the sweet peas,’ he says, shaking his head.
I stand under the umbrella in a state of disbelief, the plump drops of rain falling around us, my eyes travelling over the fallen stakes, where vines that were filled with hope are now limp and lifeless.
‘We’ll be able to salvage some of them,’ says Flynn, noticing me. ‘We’ll start re-staking them today,’ he says, trying to reassure me.
Charlie looks up at the sky, a palette of dark greys. ‘If we’re going to do it, we need to get a move on.’
The morning passes in the blink of an eye. Flynn, Charlie and I have been re-staking the damaged vines, trying to save as many plants as possible. As much as I’ve wanted to talk to Flynn about the conversation I had with Scarlett, Charlie’s presence made that discussion impossible, until now. We’re finally alone, packing things up in the barn, and at last I have the chance to broach the subject with him.
‘I spoke to Scarlett last night,’ I begin, as I close the barn door. ‘Your name came up and she made it sound like you’re hiding something from me … that you aren’t who I think you are.’ I am trying to sound as casual as possible, although the strain in my voice is apparent.
Flynn swallows, his jaw clenched. He holds my gaze for a heartbeat, before looking away. He fumbles with the keys in his pocket.
I stare at him, my eyes demanding answers. ‘I can’t possibly imagine how she’d know that. Do you?’
‘I’m not ready to tell you more right now, Gracie.’ He massages the stubble on his chin. ‘I need to get going. I’m leaving for Melbourne in an hour and I’m already late.’
‘What does that mean?’ Dread anchors itself in the pit of my stomach. ‘What is it you’re not telling me?’
I hold my breath, waiting for an answer that doesn’t come. A beat of silence passes.
‘You go back to the city some weekends and sometimes during the week. What exactly do you do there?’ My heart starts hammering in my chest. Something isn’t right. Flynn isn’t looking at me. Instead, he’s completely ignoring me by staring at his shoes.
Seconds pass.
‘Flynn?’
Still no response.
‘Flynn,’ I say, trying not to let my voice rise.
His eyes flick up at me. ‘Not the right time, Gracie.’ He leans in and kisses me on the cheek. ‘It’s nothing you need to worry about. I’ll call you from the city and as soon as I get back, we’ll sit down and talk.’ He turns around and starts walking away.
I start following him. ‘Wait! You can’t just leave like this! Is there someone else? Is that it?’
I stop in my tracks, holding my breath as I wait for an answer.
‘No, Gracie. There’s no-one else but you.’
‘Then what …’ My voice fades into the distance as Flynn takes another step forward, leaving me completely dumbfounded.
The sky opens up again, and I’m left standing in the rain, breathing in the scent of something that doesn’t smell quite right.
TWENTY-SEVEN
After a restless night, I try calling Flynn to no avail. His phone goes straight to voicemail. I text him in the hope he’ll see my message, asking him to meet me in the afternoon at the Royal Botanic Gardens in Melbourne. Before I meet him, though, I plan on finally confronting Blake.
I call a cab, throw whatever I can into my suitcase, lock up the cottage, drop Parrot off to Charlie’s, and head to the city.
From Flinders Street station, I fumble my way through Melbourne’s hurried streets that thrust me into the wildest change of pace. If there’s one thing I’ve learned since moving to Summerhill, it’s that the slow pace, the way the flowers have the chance to leisurely yawn and stretch without the pressure of having to rush, is the most beautiful way to live a life. At the first sign of a cab at the far end of the street, I start waving. It stops for me, the water from the gutter spraying against me as it comes to a halt.
I tell the driver the address of the apartment, hoping I might find Blake at home. The thought of seeing him sends the most intensely nauseating feeling through me. As we make our way through streets I don’t recognise, my phone rings. It’s Scarlett.
‘Hey there,’ I respond.
‘I know you’re ages away, but I’m in the hospital.’
‘Oh my God, are you in labour already?’
‘No, but my blood pressure’s through the roof, and they’re saying it’s pre-eclampsia. They’re monitoring me and I’m waiting for the doctors to tell me whether I’ll need to deliver early. I was hoping you might be able to come? I’d like you here.’
‘Of course. I’m on my way.’
Scarlett gives me the details of the hospital and I hang up the phone as the cab driver comes to a stop outside the apartment.
‘There’s been a change of plans. Frances Perry House, please.’
At the reception desk of the hospital, I ask for directions to Scarlett’s room. I pass by the kiosk, selling imported flowers that look so stiff, almost fake in how perfect looking they are, but I buy a bunch of them anyway—a spray of lisianthus that I’m almost certain won’t last more than a day or two in the vase.
I take the lift to the second floor of the hospital and ask for directions at the nurse’s station.
‘I’m here to see Scarlett O’Conner. How is she doing?’
‘We’re monitoring her. The doctor should be doing another round any minute. Just head on down the hall and to your left, love,’ says a nurse.
I knock on the door once before entering. There’s a man sitting by her bedside, a man who from the back looks alarmingly familiar. He frames her face with his hands as he gently leans in to kiss her. Pulling away, he strokes her cheek and pulls her into an embrace.
‘Gracie,’ says Scarlett, noticing me as she looks up from over his shoulder. She’s propped up against several pillows, tucked under a white thermal blanket over a pale-pink sheet. She looks as puffy as the pillows she’s resting against, but more beautiful than ever, a curve from her enlarged belly visible from under the blanket. ‘How did you get here so quickly?’ She sounds as tired as she looks, but my eyes aren’t on her. They’re on the man who’s just turned to face me. There’s a wedding ring on his left hand. He lets go of Scarlett’s hand and goes to stand up.
I freeze, hovering in the doorway. My legs feel shaky and I reach out for the doorframe to steady myself. This doesn’t make sense.
My eyes narrow as I watch him move. I can’t seem to catch my breath.
‘Flynn?’ I say, my voice barely audible. ‘You and Scarlett? This is what you’ve been hiding from me?’ He clears his throat and looks at Scarlett, whose eyes are wide open.
Hot tears fill my eyes. She was supposed to be my friend— my best friend. Our eyes lock for a second, hers filled w
ith the deepest kind of sorrow that matches the level of hurt in mine. My eyes dart back to Flynn, where I look him up and down, not quite believing that this could be the man I placed my trust in, the man I fell in love with, completely and wholly, while I effectively let another man, a man who loves and adores me, who thought he’d spend the rest of his life with me, go.
A split second passes before Scarlett speaks. ‘Gracie, there’s no need to panic. This is Noah,’ she says, a calmness in her voice.
My eyes widen. ‘What?!’
I shake my head in disbelief and I can’t tell whether it’s relief or anger causing my body to shake like this. ‘Brothers?’
‘Twins, actually,’ says Noah, stepping forward. ‘Missed you, Gracie.’ He smiles at me, a smile that’s almost identical to Flynn’s. My eyes meet his and travel over the features of his face, where a tiny scar resides above his left eyebrow, above eyes that are a shade darker than Flynn’s. He’s wearing a t-shirt with a print design. Flynn only ever wears plain t-shirts, more tight-fitting than this one. The edges of a tattoo are visible from under his right sleeve, a tattoo that Flynn doesn’t have. I go to speak but my words catch. I try again. ‘I’m sorry, but I don’t remember you.’
He nods in sympathy.
‘I don’t understand. How can Flynn be your brother? I mean, what are the chances of him moving in next door and being your brother?’ My head feels heavy. Too much information to take in at once. So many unanswered questions.
I turn to Scarlett, who appears paler than she did before. ‘I wanted to tell you. It’s just … it wasn’t my place to tell you—it’s not my place to tell you.’
I blink at her, trying to take it all in. Was I that adamant I didn’t want to know details about my life that she’d respect that wish, even under these circumstances?
I rub my temples and pace back and forth, trying to work this out. ‘So, if you’re Flynn’s brother, then it’s likely I knew Flynn before the accident?’
Noah purses his lips and glances at the wall, avoiding eye contact. Scarlett doesn’t reply.
The world around me suddenly feels bigger and scarier than ever.
The Memories That Make Us Page 23
