Jilted

“I’m...really sorry, Lauren, but my memory’s pretty hazy about last night. Did we...?”

“I should probably be offended that you can’t remember it.” She giggled and began toying with the flesh at his ear. He summoned all his self-control not to tap her hand away, raise his voice and demand she tell him the truth. Instead, he smiled the smile he’d been told, on many occasions, was a danger to womankind.

“Well?”

“You passed out before we got that far.” She laughed, then added something else. But Flynn didn’t take in these last words. He was too busy thanking the Lord for small mercies, promising he’d never touch another drop as long as he lived. But the reprieve didn’t last long. Lauren dipped her head and touched her hot, wet lips to his parched ones. A quick worker, she slid her tongue inside his mouth barely before he’d registered her kiss. Where, in other circumstances, his first thoughts might be of his morning breath, in this instance his only concern was how to escape her clutches. Hell, he’d be happy if he had bad breath and it scared her off.

He placed his hands on her bare shoulders and pushed her upward, looking away when her perky breasts thrust themselves into his line of vision.

“Sorry, Lauren, with the ram sale not far away, I really can’t afford to have a Sunday off. Work to be done, sheep to check on.”

“Damn sheep.” Her lower lip practically touched her chest, but she rolled over and scrounged around on the floor for her discarded clothes. If there was one thing a country girl understood, it was that nothing, no one, came before the farm.

Seizing the opportunity, Flynn scrabbled off the couch, located his shirt and boots and yanked them both on in record time. He knew he should stop and apologize to Lauren. He should explain he hadn’t meant to lead her on, that he hadn’t been thinking straight. But whatever way he put it, she’d be offended and upset. And the honest truth was that he just didn’t have the mental energy to deal with this right now. Not on top of everything else.

So without so much as a kiss on the cheek, he thanked Lauren for letting him stay and fled.

* * *

AFTER CRYING HERSELF to sleep, Ellie slept more soundly than she had in a long time. Maybe it was the emotion of the day before, maybe it was the jet lag, maybe it was the quiet of the country, but in the morning, it was only the sound of the kettle whistling that roused her. It was a noise she hadn’t heard in as long as she could remember. In her other life no one bothered with the time it took to boil a kettle. It was either Starbucks or the staff room machine, which percolated good, strong coffee twenty-four hours a day. It took a second for her to recognize the sound, and then she realized it meant Mat was already up and trying to fend for herself.

Ellie sprang into action. Her hand was on the door handle when she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. That was no fancy nightie she saw, it was a wedding dress. Her wedding dress. A shiver ran over her skin and a despondent feeling returned to her chest. With what felt like a brick weighing her down, it was an effort to walk even the few steps back to the bed. She sat and stretched behind her to the row of minuscule buttons. If she kept on like this, she was in danger of returning to that dark place she’d gone to when she first left Flynn and gave up everything that mattered to her. A place so gloomy it had taken all her willpower to drag herself out. She never wanted to go there again. Besides, she was in Hope for Matilda, not to revisit past demons.

“Come on,” she said, urging her wobbly fingers to steady and coordinate. She’d done them up with only relative difficulty; surely the undoing would be easy in comparison. More twisting, more tugging, but it seemed the only thing likely to come undone was her arm socket.

“Argh!” What was meant to be a silent plea between gritted teeth came out loud and angry. She took a deep breath, concentrated, but as the first pearl slipped from its silken prison, there came a hesitant knock on the bedroom door. Ellie froze.

“Yes?” She managed only just to get the word past the lump in her throat.

“Can I help you?” came the response. Ellie frowned at Matilda’s turn of phrase, hoping her godmother hadn’t looked in on her while she’d slept and seen her outfit. The thought chilled her.

“No,” she said, a lot harsher than she intended. “I’m here to help you. What the hell do you think you’re doing wandering around without me? Don’t do anything else. I’ll be out in just a moment.”

She focused her attention back on the dress, but the damn buttons refused to budge. Generally calm in the face of a problem, Ellie’s pulse raced and the muscles in her neck twitched. Stupid tears prickled at the corners of her eyes. As she saw it, she had two choices. Open the door and, despite the shame and embarrassment she’d feel, ask for help, or...

She took another deep breath, positioned her hands at the back of her neck, one on either side of the dress, and yanked. Hard. Tiny pops rippled as the tiny pearls shot around the room. Ellie shimmied out of the dress, scrunched it into a ball and shoved it on top of a stack of old Cosmo magazines at the bottom of the wardrobe. It felt wrong to treat something that had once been so special to her with such disregard, and for a second she hesitated, thought about pulling it out and trying to fix the creases she’d just inflicted. But Matilda’s voice sounded through the door again, more anxious than before.

“Ellie? What was that? Are you sure you’re okay in there?”

She bit down on her lip, turned and lifted the lid on her suitcase. There wasn’t time to get sentimental. “I’m fine,” she said, scrambling around for jeans and a top.

When she finally opened the door and saw the look of worry in the other woman’s eyes, she knew that she hadn’t been able to hide the truth from Matilda.

“You want to talk about it?”

“Nope.” Ellie reached out to take Matilda’s arm. “I want to get some caffeine into my veins, get you settled on the veranda swing and get stuck into those awnings you left half-done.”

Matilda shuffled alongside Ellie into the kitchen. “Don’t think you can change the subject on me, missy. I’ve let it lie for ten years but it’s time. I can see coming back here, to me, to this town, to your room...” Matilda paused and looked deep into Ellie’s eyes. Ellie knew she was thinking about the dress. “It’s messing with your mind. Therapy is expensive, but talking to an old friend is priceless.”

Ellie went to the bench, opened a cupboard and grabbed two large ceramic mugs. Perhaps Mat was right. Perhaps she should talk about why she’d done the unforgivable, why she’d left Flynn standing at the front of a church with the whole town as witness. But Matilda was the only person who’d been there who still believed in her, who could still look her in the eye and not make her feel like the scum of the earth. Hell, she could barely look in the mirror and achieve that feat herself.

No, she wasn’t ready to talk, not yet. She turned to the fridge to focus her energies on breakfast and then remembered. No milk. Dammit, she just didn’t do black coffee, especially not at the crack of dawn. But another thought followed quickly on the heels of that one. As much as the idea of leaving the house terrified her, it was still early for a Sunday. She was less likely to run into anyone at this time of day, and going for milk and bread—the basic supplies that would get them through the weekend—would postpone the inevitable talk.

“I’m just going to pop up to the Shell and get us some milk. Want any munchies?”

Matilda frowned and sighed. “I’m not one to pass up a chocolate bar, but don’t think this gets you off the hook. We will talk. It’s well past time.”

“I know.” Ellie tried to sound nonchalant, as if the idea of raking up the past wasn’t uncomfortable or painful. “But I barely function, never mind do deep and meaningful without my morning coffee.” She leaned over and kissed Mat on the cheek, then grabbed the car keys and was out of there before her godmother had the chance for further protests.

She smiled with relief as she pulled into the service station. A couple of trucks were parked and their drivers stood between them chomping on greasy breakfast. The thought of eating that kind of food this early turned Ellie’s stomach, but she guessed it helped combat the chill of winter mornings. She shivered. She’d been in such a hurry to leave the house she hadn’t thought about a sweater or a jacket, never mind actually put one on.

Rubbing her arms, she strode toward the shop, dodging a crusty old ute at the gas tanks and ignoring the chill that ran through her as she noticed it was a Hope Junction license plate. She’d forgotten this about small towns in WA, that you could tell where a car was from by the first letters on the license plate. She was far from the anonymity of Sydney, and this car belonged to a local.

Get a grip, she told herself firmly.

But that was easier said than done. Her encounter with Lauren had reinforced her fears. The reception she would get from townsfolk was likely to be frosty at best, downright nasty at worst. She pushed open the door of the shop, trying to recall what it was she’d come for and crashed head-on into a man carrying a paper and a Coffee Chill. His purchases clattered to the floor and without glancing at each other, they both dived to collect them. Their heads knocked, their hands brushed, and laughter at the silliness of the situation tumbled from their mouths. Ellie felt instantly at ease.

Until they both stood up and the man’s warm chuckle died on his lips as he registered who she was.

CHAPTER FIVE

ELLIE REACHED OUT to grab the door for support.

Flynn.

She wasn’t sure if she said his name aloud or not. Nothing in her wildest imagination could have prepared her for this. It was as if a million different things were going on in her body. Adrenaline had set off a chain of reactions inside her—her hands got sweaty, her heart was beating so fast and loud it felt as if it would break out of her chest at any moment, and her knees felt incapable of holding her up much longer. Their overexertion probably accounted for the beads of perspiration bursting out across her forehead. But her mind and eyes were feasting on the sight before her, of which her memory had done no justice at all.

The grown-up Flynn was a hundred times more gorgeous than the teenage one—and that was saying something. Not that she’d expected otherwise, but he’d filled out in all the right places, grown into his long, lanky body and become a strapping, commanding presence. Light stubble dusted his jawline and his golden hair was longer than she recalled. And mussed up slightly. It suited him. Yet despite his overbearing good looks, one thing stood out as very different. His lips drew a flat line across his face where once a huge, mischievous grin held prime position. She’d fallen in love with that smile before anything else, and now it was nowhere to be seen.

“Cat got your tongue?”

Ellie snapped out of her trance and realized not only was she practically drooling, openmouthed like a codfish, but also that she hadn’t registered Flynn speaking. To her. She tried to reply but something obstructed her words. Like one of those awful dreams where there’s a serial killer chasing you and your legs won’t function. She had so much she wanted—needed—to say to Flynn, and yet her mouth refused to cooperate.

“Ah, never mind,” Flynn said bitterly. His eyes narrowed and he shook his head as he walked past, clutching his paper and drink hard against his chest while stepping as near to the door frame as possible. She could only guess he wanted to avoid the possibility of brushing against her. Her heart crumbled at this thought, but still she couldn’t find the wherewithal to speak. If only she could turn back time and at least find out what he’d said. But then, if she had such powers, she’d turn back time a lot further and erase other stupid mistakes.

Almost in slow motion, she turned around, but Flynn was already pounding the pavement away from her. He didn’t look back. Shivers scuttled down her spine like a thousand nasty, eight-legged beasts. And she started to shake. Uncontrollably. The room spun.

She took hold of herself and tried to moderate her breathing. She was no doctor, but even she knew breathing at such a rate was dangerous. Was this what a panic attack felt like? One of the actresses on Lake Street suffered from them, apparently, but Ellie had never bought into the hype.

“Excuse me, miss? Are you okay?”

She registered that someone somewhere was speaking to her, but a sudden, stabbing pain in her chest throttled any reply. She pressed her hand against her breast hoping the pressure would somehow ease the pain, that if the discomfort eased, then so would the dizziness, the shakes and the feeling the room was closing in around her. But it was no good. No longer able to keep a firm grip on the door, her knees gave way and she tumbled onto the hard concrete.

“That’s it, I’m calling an ambulance,” said the voice.

“Damn straight, looks like she’s having a heart attack,” said another voice. “Don’t want no celebrities dying in my shop. Maybe we should get her a blanket or something?”

No! She didn’t want a blanket. She brought her knees up to her chest and rocked back and forth against the door. I just want to go, she would have yelled, but her tongue had grown thick and immobile. I just want to go back to Sydney, where I’m not some kind of freak show, and live my life the best I can.

Her legs had lost all their strength. She tried to move so she wasn’t hunched like a sobbing cripple in the doorway, but the gods were laughing at her. Somewhere a flash went off, but before she had time to comprehend what that meant, sirens pierced the air, egging on her horrendous headache.

“In here,” she heard someone say. Then two women in green uniforms were looking over her. One of them crouched down and lifted Ellie’s hand, rubbing her wrist, presumably to take her pulse. The other ambulance officer began firing questions at the owner and his employee. Still stunned that this was actually happening, Ellie took a moment to react, but when she heard the word hospital, something inside her snapped back into place.

She pasted what was no doubt a less-than-believable smile on her face and looked apologetically into the face of the woman checking her over. “I’m really sorry,” she said, extracting her hand and straightening her ponytail. “I’m fine. I don’t know what happened, but I’m really fine now. I don’t need to go to hospital.”

The other, less feminine ambulance officer leaned down and butted in. “It’s policy. We have to take you in and have a doctor check you over.”

“No.” No way in hell was she going back to that pokey small-town hospital and risking another run-in with Lauren. She could only imagine what would happen if she were admitted into that woman’s care. “I said I’m fine and I am. You can’t force me to go.”

“She does seem fine,” stated the first officer.

While the two of them discussed protocol and common sense, and the service station owner added his opinion, Ellie flexed her feet and pushed herself up into a stand. Although still shaky, she had every confidence her legs were back in the game. Monitoring her breathing, she trekked slowly around the shop, grabbing chocolates, a big bottle of Fanta, packets of chips, two types of milk and a loaf of white bread. The pickings were slim at the Shell and the prices exorbitant, but she needed to get out of there quickly, with enough provisions to avoid coming back too soon. Tomorrow she’d worry about a bigger shop, although how she’d make it round the Co-op without having an actual heart attack, she had no idea.

“You sure you shouldn’t get properly checked out?” asked the shop assistant as she scanned Ellie’s purchases through the till. The young woman looked genuinely concerned. Ellie didn’t recognize her and judging by her attitude, she deduced that the girl couldn’t have been a resident of Hope very long.

“Thanks for your concern, but I just had a shock.”

The girl looked at her quizzically, but she wasn’t about to start discussing her sordid past with a stranger. No doubt the town gossips would fight to fill her in. Instead, Ellie handed over a fifty-dollar note.

The act of selecting and purchasing items seemed to convince the ambulance folk she was, in fact, physically fine. So, wanting to get this whole sorry episode over quickly, Ellie filled in her details and signed the release.

When Ellie returned to the house, Matilda—sitting in an armchair in the living room—threw her arms up theatrically. “You’ve been gone an age. I was about to organize a search party.”

“Sorry.” She walked through to the kitchen and began unloading the sparse supplies. Inwardly she laughed at the idea that anyone in this godforsaken town would give up their Sunday to search for her.

“I almost called the police,” Matilda continued, her shrill voice carrying down the short hallway.

“Thank God you didn’t,” Ellie called back. “I’ve had my fill of emergency services today.”

“You’ve what?” There was a short silence and then a shuffle. Ellie could hear Matilda reaching for her crutches and knew she was trying to stand up.

“Stay there!” she roared. “I’ll get us a drink and makeshift breakfast, and then I’ll fill you in.” On everything, she added silently. It was time.

She took her time making the coffee and toast. She even cut each slice into little triangles, laid them decoratively on the plate and loaded it all onto an elaborate tray Mat had brought back from Mexico a few years ago. When she finally entered the living room, Matilda was leaning forward in the chair, her body tense, the expression on her face desperately curious.

“What happened?”

“I ran into Flynn.” Ellie’s tone suggested this was an everyday occurrence. She handed Mat her mug, then placed the toast on the little coffee table, positioning it within both their reach.

“Oh.” For once Matilda seemed short of words. Then, eventually, “Dare I ask?”

Ellie flopped into the armchair opposite. “It was a complete debacle. He looked like he wanted to vomit at the sight of me and I almost fainted.” She laughed a little hysterically. “Someone called an ambulance.”

“You’ve been to the hospital?”

She shook her head. “I refused to go.”

Matilda waved an arm in front of her face. “Who cares about the hospital, I want to know about Flynn.”

Ellie tried in vain to keep her hands and voice steady as she sipped her drink and filled Mat in on the events of the morning. Yet with every mention of Flynn the effort became all the more impossible.

“My poor girl,” Matilda said, gesturing to the tissue box on the table. “You’ve held it in far too long. It’s time to let it out.”

“I’m fine.” Ellie shoved the box and it plopped onto the floor. That got a skeptical smile and a brow lift from Matilda. “I am,” she insisted. “If I hadn’t seen the dress, I wouldn’t have been in such a soppy and sentimental mood when I ran into him. It’s not like I didn’t know it was going to happen sooner or later.” She paused to collect herself. “Why did you keep it?”

“It wasn’t mine to throw away.”

“No, I know, but...but...” But what? She’d always assumed Matilda would have given it to the Salvation Army or something.

“At first I left it there because I thought you’d be back. You were so in love with him, no one was more surprised than me when you ran off like that. I knew you better than everyone, aside from Flynn, and he never suspected a problem. He was a wreck. So I was sure you’d be back.”

A familiar guilt gnawed at Ellie’s heart and she rested her hand against her stomach. Nausea was the standard reaction whenever she thought of what she’d done to Flynn. She did her best to live her life in denial but occasionally—usually on lonely weekends, when all she had was the company of bad black-and-white movies on the telly—her thoughts turned to him. More than once she’d been physically sick.

“Then,” continued Matilda, “by the time it became clear you’d made a life for yourself without him, the dress had been there so long. It probably sounds silly, but it made me feel closer to you. You were never as happy as the day you tried on that dress. Sometimes I’d come into the room, look at the dress and wonder if there was anything I could have done.”

“No,” Ellie rushed, “none of this was your fault.” The last thing she needed was for Matilda, who had always been there for her no matter what, to feel guilty, as well. So many times she’d almost spilled her heart out to Mat, but she’d never quite been able to find the words. Mat loved and trusted her more than anyone, so Ellie had been scared. Scared that Mat would think of her differently if she knew. “I don’t want you to ever—”

Matilda held up her hand to silence Ellie. “I need to say this. The years passed and you made no mention of coming back. I meant to clean out your room, I really did, but you know what I’m like with my own clutter, I couldn’t bear to sort and make decisions about yours. I’m sorry, I should have gotten rid of that dress, but something I can’t really explain stopped me.”

“It’s okay.” Ellie’s reply was a mere whisper. All choked up, she thought about the crumpled dress in the bottom of the wardrobe. What the hell should she do with it? “I understand,” she continued, “but I want you to know that none of what happened is your fault. If anyone besides me is to blame—for leaving, for staying away all these years—it’s my despicable excuse for a mother.”

“Your mother?” Matilda looked baffled. “I didn’t know you two were in touch. I thought the last time you saw Rhiannon was in Perth, just before your...”

Ellie knew she was about to say wedding. She shook her head and set her friend straight. “She never turned up.”

Matilda’s mouth dropped open like a sideshow clown and her eyes grew cold. “But I don’t understand. You told me you spent the weekend in the city together, that she apologized profusely about not being able to make it to your wedding. I wanted to hunt her down, give her what for about missing the most important day of your life.”

“All lies,” Ellie admitted. “I guess I felt like an idiot for thinking she’d care enough to meet up with me, and I wanted you all to think that she did. When she didn’t show, I waited in the bar for five hours, treating myself to cocktails to cheer up. I got quite drunk.” That was a massive understatement.

In the next hour or so, Ellie spilled the truth about what had happened that awful weekend in Perth. She left nothing out. She cried a lot. And so did Matilda, who cursed herself for not being there for Ellie when she’d needed her support. But not once did Matilda make her feel any less of a person for her mistakes. She didn’t pass judgment or even make many comments until the end, when Ellie said, “So you see how I couldn’t tell Flynn? He’d have hated me.”

Matilda frowned slightly. “I don’t see anything of the sort. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my life, it’s to never presume what another person thinks, or how they’ll react in a certain situation.”

“I suppose.” But the truth was, Ellie couldn’t have coped with seeing the hurt and disappointment in Flynn’s eyes if she had stayed to face her problems.

“Personally,” Mat said, “and this is just my opinion, because as I said, I don’t know the inside of Flynn’s head, but I think he would rather have had you—and whatever came with that—than lose you. He made some bad choices himself after you left.”

Ellie’s head shot up from where it had been staring down into her lap and a fist full of tissues. “What kind of bad choices?”

* * *

ELLIE WOKE ON Monday morning feeling utterly drained. The past couple of days had been exhausting—physically, mentally and emotionally. And she’d be a fool to think the worst was over.

Her guilt had trebled when she heard that for two years after she left, Flynn had gone on a wild bender, becoming best friends with bottles of Jim Beam. And then his dad, Cyril, had been killed in a freak accident on the farm. She could only imagine the pain the Quartermaines would have felt at that deep loss. Flynn and Cyril had disagreed about some aspects of running the farm, and Cyril had been reluctant to take on a few of Flynn’s ideas, but mostly, father and son had been great mates. In a somewhat bittersweet turnaround, though, it was his father’s death that pulled Flynn out of his self-destructive spiral. Where many turn to alcohol in times of mourning, Cyril’s passing shook Flynn enough that he went completely dry. Ellie felt so relieved when Matilda told her that Flynn had reformed, but she couldn’t ignore the painful truth. If she hadn’t run away, he’d never have gone there in the first place.