The Reunion Of A Lifetime

Apart from his first compulsory session with the counsellor and a quick visit to see his brother, he’d spent almost no time in Melbourne. Harry was much the same—thinner perhaps than the last time Charlie had seen him but just as quiet. Charlie had sat and told him about being on enforced leave. Harry had listened, his face impassive apart from a muscle twitch near his eye. He’d not offered an opinion, but that was par for the course. Charlie hadn’t expected one.

There was no point lingering in Melbourne so, after leaving Harry, he’d hired a car and driven straight down the coast to Bide-a-While. Now he stared out at the horizon, scanning the calm seas for fins—preferably those of dolphins—and breathed in deeply, willing the salt air to magically invigorate him. With not even the hint of a wave, the bay was empty of its usual cluster of wetsuit-clad surfers and their boards eagerly anticipating the perfect ride.

Charlie vaguely entertained the notion of stand-up paddle boarding, but he couldn’t muster the enthusiasm. It seemed like a lot of effort to climb back up the stairs to Bide-a-While, get the key, open the shed, find the board, pour himself into a wetsuit and finally get out onto the water.

Last night, Gran had suggested he walk into town early and buy coffee and the paper. He knew it was a just ploy to get him out of the house and into the fresh air, because she had a state-of-the-art Italian coffeemaker in the kitchen, plus he thought she still had the paper delivered. Still, he had to admit that being out on the beach as the sun rose beat thrashing about in bed, seeking sleep that never came.

Good old Gran. She’d welcomed his unannounced visit with open arms and thankfully with a distinct lack of questions—for now. He’d caught her studying him every now and then, worry clear in her eyes, and he hated that. He’d tried to reassure her—‘just following the rules, taking some leave and satisfying the shrink that I came through the cyclone with my head intact’—but even he didn’t totally believe his own spin. Cyclone or no cyclone, being back in Australia and without work to keep him busy and his mind full meant the past had a horrible way of sneaking up on him.

It hadn’t taken long for the past to insert itself. Last night, the nightmare he’d thought he’d finally banished had visited, laughing at his naiveté. It turned out it had been languishing in the wings, just waiting for him to land on bright red, Aussie soil before making a grand entrance. During its dormancy, it hadn’t change in shape or form. It was still him and Harry trapped in caves, wells, mines, barrels—any sort of container, vessel or space. They’d fight their way to the entrance, the surface, freedom, and he’d break through and turn to grab Harry’s hand to tug him over the line, only to have his brother pulled away from him at the last moment and vanish in front of his eyes.

The nightmare had released him from its clutches in its age-old way—he’d woken with a start, drenched in sweat, his lungs tight, his chest heaving, and with the sheets tangled around his legs. He hadn’t been able to save Harry in real life so why did he expect to be able to do it in a dream?

Although Gran was yet to grill him on work, it was obvious she was on a mission to fatten him up. Since he’d arrived three days ago, every meal had featured at least one of his favourite foods. As yet, none of them had piqued his appetite. It was still MIA along with sleep. So far, the only event to spark his interest had been meeting Lauren Fuller again.

Never in a million years had he expected to find her still in Horseshoe Bay, let alone working as the GP. During that amazing summer twelve years ago, she’d been high on the excitement of starting her medical degree and he remembered her discussing plans to work in indigenous communities. Horseshoe Bay was the antithesis of a desert community or even an indigenous coastal one. Still, all that talk had been a long time ago and plans could change—his certainly had.

Seeing her again had given him a few rare moments of pleasure and it had pierced the numbness and fatigue he was struggling to throw off. He’d felt more alive in those few minutes than he had in weeks. Granted, the feeling had been tempered by her obvious displeasure at seeing him. It was a reaction that still confused him. Despite closely examining his memory in the early hours of the last two mornings, no matter which way he came at it, his recollections of their time together only ever generated a collage of fun, laughter and sex.

Love.

He immediately shied away from the word. Love only brought pain and when he thought of Lauren that emotion was absent. No, he had a deep and abiding affection for her. She’d helped him get through a tough and difficult time and for that he’d never forget her. More than once over the years he’d regretted having to leave her behind. Back then, staying in Australia had been impossible—that hadn’t changed.

Despite knowing that, it hadn’t been enough to prevent him, in more disconsolate moments over the last ten years, from contemplating what his life might have been like if he’d stayed. Stayed with Lauren. But he knew those thoughts were flights of fancy. Even without the disaster that was his family and the fact they’d both been far too young and on the cusp of their adult lives to make a lifelong commitment, he was too difficult to love.

But all those details aside, the fact Lauren had intimated he’d forgotten her had thrown him. It hadn’t only been excitement at seeing her again that had propelled him across the room to her; it had also been lo—gratitude. It had felt like the most natural thing in the world for him to lean in and kiss her on the cheek. After all, that’s what old friends did, right?

Apparently not. Her unanticipated frostiness had not only shocked him, it had spiked him, denting his enthusiasm and leaving him feeling foolish. He’d immediately fallen back into old Ainsworth habits. In a moment he still regretted, he’d gone for one-upmanship. He shuddered whenever he thought about his supercilious tone. ‘Actually, it’s Mr Ainsworth.’

His phone vibrated in his pocket and he pulled it out, half expecting a text from his grandmother asking him to pick up something for her in town.

Nice of you to let us know you’re back in the country. I didn’t appreciate being made to look a fool when Alison Petty said she’d seen you after visiting your brother and I told her she must be mistaken. Your mother would appreciate a visit.

His father, he noted wryly, didn’t waste text characters on greetings or sign-offs. Then again, it was no real surprise as he didn’t use them in telephone calls, emails or face-to-face conversations either. Randall Ainsworth, MBBS, FRCS, PhD had little time for pleasantries—after all, he was a very busy man. As for Charlie’s mother appreciating a visit? The jury was still out on that and had been for a long time.

He slid the phone back into his pocket, trying to ignore the unwanted and sticky tug of the complicated web that was his family ties. Visiting either of his parents and pretending that the accusations and angry words had faded into the past was pointless. They still hung in the air as fresh and raw as the day they’d been spoken in the ICU ward by Harry’s bed. He was intelligent enough to know that time would not have improved the odds of a visit going well.

Basil barked, the sound thankfully breaking into his unhappy thoughts and diverting him. Charlie watched in surprise as the dog broke into a run. To be accurate, it was more of a brisk waddle but it was faster than the beagle’s usual snail pace. He glanced along the beach and noticed a woman running towards them. Dressed in bright fluoro, she was impossible to miss.

Charlie set off after Basil, knowing that not everyone loved dogs, even harmless arthritic ones. He didn’t have the energy to deal with an angry resident quoting beach by-laws at him. As he got closer, he noticed the runner’s figure—trim but soft and curvy in all the places that made him appreciate a woman’s body. He felt something shift inside and for the first time in months his libido sat up and took notice. Basil chose that moment to bark again and Charlie laughed, appreciating the dog’s good taste. The noise seemed to penetrate the woman’s concentration and, without breaking her stride, she turned her head towards the sound.

Lauren. Even with her face shadowed by the peak of her running cap, he’d recognise those rich brown eyes anywhere. He raised his hand in a wave and caught her momentary prevarication—she didn’t want to stop. Well, blow that. He wanted to talk to her and find out why she was being so prickly. ‘Morning, Lauren.’

If she wanted to ignore him, she was now stymied by Basil, who was waddling around her feet. She either stopped running or risked tripping over the rotund dog. Charlie decided right there and then that his unexpected wingman was getting a big, fat, juicy steak for dinner tonight. Lauren did an elegant sidestep and then stopped, bent and tousled Basil’s velvet ears. She didn’t look up.

‘Mr. Ainsworth.’

‘You used to call me Charlie.’

‘We’ve grown up, Charles.’

She rose gracefully, her full height bringing the top of her head level with his chin. A memory flashed of her curves resting neatly into his dips—the two of them interlocking like puzzle pieces—and how he’d always rested his chin gently on her hair, breathing in her scent. Apples. She’d always smelt of apples and he idly wondered if she still did.

A sensation akin to peace rolled through him at the memory. Those six precious weeks with Lauren had been a haven from nine months of hell. A temporary but welcome escape from his family life until he’d made the break permanent with a move overseas. ‘Fair enough,’ he said, despite the fact he thought her calling him Charles was unfair. ‘But don’t be surprised if I fail to respond when you call me that. My parents are the only people who use my full name and I rarely respond to them.’

‘Your grandmother introduced you as Charles the other night.’

‘Ingrained social etiquette. Generally, she calls me Charlie or Stupid, depending on what I’ve done.’

Lauren’s lips wriggled as if she was fighting a smile. ‘So, you get called stupid a lot, do you?’

‘Just enough to keep me grounded.’ He shot her a self-deprecating grin, hoping to be rewarded with a full smile. It didn’t happen and it struck him that his disappointment was out of proportion to the situation. Then again, all his reactions seemed to be out of kilter at the moment—they were either way too strong or not strong enough. For weeks he’d been unable to anticipate any of them and not working was making it worse. ‘I’m heading for coffee.’ He nodded towards the café. ‘Any good?’

‘As good as you get in Melbourne,’ she said, stretching out an arm before standing on her right leg and bending her left up behind her.

The action pulled her top tightly across her breasts and he couldn’t help but notice they were slightly fuller than he remembered, not that he was complaining. ‘I’m clueless on Melbourne’s coffee standards. I don’t think I’ve had a cup there in eighteen months.’

Surprise danced across her high cheekbones and her left foot hit the sand. ‘Really? I thought you lived there?’

He saw the curiosity bright in her in her eyes and he seized on it, hoping it was an opening. ‘Let me buy you coffee. We can fill each other in on the last twelve years.’

‘I don’t have all day.’

It was said without an accompanying smile and her resistance crashed into him, wave after wave. If he’d thought he might have imagined hostility when they’d met at Bide-a-While, he was under no illusions now. What confused him was why it existed at all. Although he remembered a lot of arguments that summer, all of them had been with his father and none of them with Lauren. ‘What about coffee and the potted version, then?’

She stood still for a second and then her gaze fell to the sports watch on her wrist. He crossed his fingers behind his back. ‘Ten minutes,’ she said, ‘but let’s go to another café.’

‘I thought you said this one was good, and look...’ he pointed to a bloke with sun-bleached hair who was setting up a sandwich board ‘...it’s open.’

‘The other one’s closer to work.’ In an abrupt action that mirrored her words, she broke into a jog.

‘Come on, Basil,’ Charlie said. ‘We’re going to have to run to catch up.’

* * *

Lauren sipped her latte at the small outside table and blamed running-induced hypoxia for agreeing to chat with Charlie. Charles, Charles, Charles. Who was she kidding? He’d always been Charlie and using the formal version of his name wasn’t enough to keep old memories—good and bad—at bay. Right now, she was banking on the fact that by agreeing to this ten-minute catch-up of the last twelve years she’d be off the hook. Afterwards, she could cheerfully decline any future invitations without appearing rude. To be honest, she was flummoxed as to why he even wanted to do this when he’d been the one to walk away without looking back.

‘So...married? Children?’ she asked, determined to control the conversation. It didn’t prevent her from steeling herself for the inevitable phone photos of blonde-haired, blue-eyed children in private school uniforms. Or a family shot taken at a resort in an exotic location somewhere. When she’d been younger and daydreaming the vision of her life, she’d never anticipated that she’d be the single, childless woman forced to make polite comments about other people’s children. Yet that was exactly what she’d become.

‘Let’s face it, Lauren. You fail at most things so why are you surprised you can’t get pregnant?’ Jeremy’s words wormed their way back despite her attempt to block them out.

‘No to marriage and children,’ Charles said in a tone that gave no hint as to how he felt about the situation. ‘I was engaged once for a bit, but...’ He shrugged. ‘It didn’t work out.’

Why? She was still processing the fact that he was one of a rare species—a single, good-looking, heterosexual male in his mid-thirties—when he added, ‘What about you? Married? Kids? Committed relationship?’

She swallowed as the shame she thought she’d banished came back to bite her. ‘Divorced,’ she said softly.

‘Ah. Sorry.’

‘Yeah.’ She sipped her coffee, not certain if she wanted his sympathy or not. ‘It’s not something I ever thought would happen to me but—’ Shut up. He’s not your friend. He doesn’t need to know.

‘Stuff happens that we can’t always control.’

Her head snapped up at his sombre tone. ‘That sounds like the voice of experience.’

His eyes suddenly widened into inky black discs. He shot to his feet, tossed the light café table sideways and grabbed her roughly, hauling her out of the chair. She slammed hard into his chest and her breath flew out of her lungs. Fear invaded her, stiffening her body and making her blood thunder through her veins. A scream rose to her throat but before it broke out she was slammed onto the ground and Charlie’s body was rolling hers over and over.

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