Burnt (17 page)

Thankfully, the girls' excited chatter covered her discomfort, and within moments Eliza was there to greet Seb with a big smile and a hug, as though it were completely normal to be welcoming her boyfriend of eighteen years ago into the family.

As Seb and her father shook hands and swapped man talk, Rebecca managed to corner her mother and demand an explanation. ‘What on earth were you thinking?'

‘I just thought it would be nice to catch up with him again.'

‘But I just finished
telling you we had an argument the other day,' Rebecca said.

Eliza gave a small grimace. ‘Yes, well that was a little unfortunate. I didn't know about that before I invited him, but look,' she said, tilting of her head towards the other side of the verandah. Seb and Rebecca's father, Gary, were deep in discussion about the virtues of the latest Holden and the possibility of the company taking out this year's Supercar title. ‘They're getting along like a house on fire, and he seems to have forgotten all about your little tiff.'

‘Great.'

‘Here, why don't you take these over and hand them around,' Eliza said, thrusting a tray of dip and biscuits into her daughter's hands, walking away before Rebecca could protest. Taking a calming breath, she clenched her teeth and walked across to offer the men some dip.

Gary Whiteman looked much the same as he had when she was a kid. His hair was still thick, and although it had receded slightly and was peppered with silver flecks, these only enhanced his looks.

‘At least the boy's got good taste – he's a Holden man.'

‘That was lucky,' Rebecca agreed dryly, and saw Seb's lips twitch as he waited for her father to scoop some of the dip onto his biscuit.

‘Gary, can you come in here and give me a hand for a minute, please?'

Rebecca's father sent them a long-suffering sigh, before handing over the barbecue tongs to Seb. ‘I'm leaving you in charge, mate. Whatever you do – don't burn the steak or you'll never hear the end of it.'

‘I'll do my best,' Seb assured him and, for a minute, Rebecca wondered if maybe the handing over of the tongs was some kind of ceremonial rite between men.

‘You didn't have to come tonight, you know,' Rebecca said quietly, as she watched him guarding the sizzling meat vigilantly.

‘Your mother didn't exactly seem like she was going to take no for an answer.'

‘Sorry.'

‘Don't be. I'm glad she asked me. I wasn't too sure you'd see me if I turned up at your place. I'd feel like an idiot if you slammed the door in my face.' He seemed nervous – very un-Seb-like. ‘I wasn't sure I could have held out much longer if your mum hadn't invited me over tonight, though.'

‘I wouldn't have slammed the door in your face,' she said quietly. ‘I want to talk about it, Seb, but not here.' As though on cue, doors slammed and pots crashed in the kitchen, making her all too aware that they had an audience, and not just any old audience – her parents. ‘Maybe you could come home with us later and we could talk about it then?'

‘Sure.' He didn't seem overly thrilled by the idea of talking things over; he was probably steeling himself for a deep and meaningful, and plotting an excuse to disappear before then.

Dinner went remarkably well, despite Rebecca feeling as though she was having some sort of out of-body experience as she watched her parents and Seb chatting and joking like old friends. She remembered the terrified sixteen-year-old he'd been when they'd first started going out. She almost laughed at the memory; she could still see the beads of sweat on his forehead and the way his hand had shaken as he'd reached for his water. Watching him now, her eyes followed his hand as he reached out to pick up his beer – not a tremor in sight – and took a long swig of the amber contents, the tanned column of his throat working as he downed the last of the bottle's contents.

Rebecca found it almost impossible to drag her eyes from that strong neck, jumping guiltily as her mother called her name.

‘You're been very quiet over there tonight, darling – everything all right?'

‘Everything's fine.'
Liar
, a little voice hissed as she forced a smile to her face and dropped her gaze back to the safety of her plate in front of her.

‘We're so lucky to have our girls back home. I bet your dad is enjoying having you back, Seb?'

‘I'm sure he is, Mrs Whiteman,' Seb answered politely, with a relaxed confidence he hadn't had as a teenager.

‘I've already told you, Sebastian, call me Eliza. You're a grown man now.'

‘That's strange. You don't treat me like a grown woman,' Rebecca said, raising her eyebrow.

‘That's different, you're our daughter – you'll always be our baby girl.'

‘That's what Mum always says to us!' Sarah said, looking at her nan with a wide-eyed expression.

‘You're not thirty-six,' Rebecca said.

‘And your mother's right, you'll always be her baby, too,' Eliza told them.

Sending Seb a see-what-I-have-to-live-with smile, Rebecca poked at her salad and continued to move the food around her plate in small circles.

‘It's a shame your dad didn't come to dinner as well. I haven't seen him in ages.'

‘He keeps to himself nowadays – he was pleased to get the invite, and wanted to make sure I told you that it was nice of you to think of him, but he doesn't like to leave the house at night any more,' Seb explained.

Rebecca knew it wasn't that strange for older people, especially in the cooler months, to keep to their homes; it wasn't much fun driving at night or going outside in the cold. But Angus Taylor had been pretty much living like a hermit since his wife had died.

‘Well, we'll have to organise something for another time with him,' her mother said before standing to clear away the plates. Happy for the distraction, Rebecca gave up the pretence of eating and lent a hand. Her upcoming discussion with Seb had stolen her appetite and concentration.

After her mother's special pavlova for dessert, they said goodnight and headed home. The girls were fighting to keep their eyes open on the short trip and after putting up a feeble protest at going to bed, they eventually went off without too much whining.

Rebecca tried to make sense of her scattered emotions and confused thoughts as she put the jug on and made two coffees, feeling Seb watching her from across the kitchen.

‘I'm sorry I walked out the other night, Bec.'

His soft words made her look up from spooning the coffee into their cups. Realising her hands were slightly unsteady, she rushed through the task, cursing as she spilled some of the rich, dark granules.

He was beside her, gently taking the spoon from her hands and turning her to face him, before she was even aware that he'd moved.

‘Just stop for a minute. You've been avoiding me all night and I want you to look at me … please?'

How could she refuse a request that sounded as though it had been ripped from his chest?

‘I've been thinking about the other night.' He paused and gave a deep sigh. ‘I gotta be honest with you, Bec – I still don't know how it all blew up the way it did. I don't know how I became the bad guy when I was only worried about your safety.'

She exhaled wearily. ‘You aren't the bad guy. I guess it just caught me off-guard a little that you were so … well, overbearing, actually.' She saw his eyebrow quirk sceptically. ‘You
were
,
Seb. You wouldn't listen to me and you treated me like some halfwit instead of a grown woman, capable of making her own informed decisions.'

To his credit, Seb seemed to consider this for a few minutes, finally giving a slow nod and a small chuckle. ‘Okay. I'm sorry. I didn't realise I was coming across like that and I didn't mean to imply you were a halfwit.' He flashed a brief grin and Rebecca felt her own lips twitch in reply. He really did make it difficult for her to stay angry with him when he did that little lopsided grin thing.

‘I spent so much of my life doing what I was told, and it just makes me bristle when someone tries to do it nowadays.'

‘By your ex?'

She gave a small nod. ‘I don't even know how it happened. One day I was an independent, single woman. I had a career, a social life … the next thing I knew, I was married, nearing thirty, and hadn't made a single decision about my life in years.' It was still humiliating to hear herself admit it aloud. ‘I guess it just became easier to let someone else make the decisions. I was so caught up in my own emotional problems after having Natalie that I'm not even sure I really cared. He chose our house, decided where to go out to eat, where we went on our honeymoon … I think I was too surprised at being swept off my feet to consider that what he was doing was actually completely controlling.'

Seb's brow hadn't smoothed once since she'd started talking – if anything, his frown was getting deeper.

‘What do you mean “emotional problems”?'

Rebecca eyed him carefully. It wasn't a time in her life she liked to talk about, but Seb, more than anyone, would surely understand.

‘You're not the only one who carried demons around after the accident.' She saw the skin around his eyes tighten slightly. ‘Each time I reached some kind of milestone in my life, I couldn't help but feel guilty that I was alive and Reggie wasn't.'

She turned and busied herself scooping the spilt coffee from the bench into her hand and dumping it in the sink. ‘It got worse around the time I had Natalie. I couldn't stop crying and thinking about Reggie – wondering why I survived and got to hold this precious little life in my hands and she … didn't.' Swallowing over the familiar lump, she looked at him in time to catch the shadow of pain in his dark eyes. She placed her palms on his face, forcing him to look at her. ‘Don't you
dare
try and take the blame for this,' she warned him. ‘Do you have any idea how badly I've wanted to talk to someone – to the only other person in the world who was there that night and knows what I'm feeling?' God, how many times had she wished she could share her anger and pain, the gut-wrenching grief she carried inside, without having to listen to worn-out consoling phrases? Well-meaning though they may have been, they only served to infuriate her. Anyone who hadn't been there couldn't truly understand.

He pulled from her grasp and moved across the room, turning his back on her, shutting her out – again.

‘I can't be that person for you, Bec – I'm sorry, but I just can't.'

With a sad sigh, Rebecca forced away the pain in her chest and turned back to the jug.

‘I'm partly to blame for the way Matthew became,' Rebecca said, striving to sound composed. ‘Had I stood up to him earlier, maybe things would have been different, but by the time Natalie was born it was all I could do to simply function and care for a newborn baby. So things just continued the way they always had and Matthew continued to make all the decisions, big and small, while I just … accepted whatever he decided.'

Slowly he turned back to face her, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly, but she could tell he was still hurting.

‘Is that why this shelter thing is so important to you? Was he abusive?'

‘He was never physically abusive, but he was controlling and had a volatile temper.' Pouring in the water, she slowly stirred the coffee, automatically adding sugar to her own before handing him his cup and crossing to the table. It gave them both time to calm down and think over what had been said.

‘On a certain level I understand what those women are going through. It's hard to change a way of life you've accepted for so long. I don't pretend to know what it's like to live through the full extent of physical abuse, all I can do is offer a life raft once they've decided to take that leap. It's up to them if they choose to jump back in the water. But if I can help just one woman out of a horrible situation, then it's worth it. There are so many who are just too afraid to ask for help. Can you imagine living in that kind of fear?'

‘You can't save them all.'

Rebecca shook her head sadly. ‘No, I can't. And that's the hardest part to accept. But if I can help give one woman and her kids a chance to improve their life, then it's got to be worth it, hasn't it?'

Seb studied her quietly for a few moments. ‘I can't argue with that. I just wish it were someone else doing it. Sorry.' He shrugged, unrepentant, as she frowned at him. ‘But it's true. I'd rather it was anyone else but you putting yourself in the firing line of violent husbands.'

‘I don't have the luxury of leaving it to someone else. We're a small town and we don't have the resources of a larger regional town or city.'

Leaning across the table, he took her hand, running his rough-skinned fingers across her smaller, softer ones. ‘I don't have a lot of practice with worrying about someone else. Cut me a bit of slack here, okay? I'm trying.'

‘I may have overreacted slightly,' she conceded, as she stared down at their linked fingers. ‘But you
were
being a little overbearing.'

‘I was stating my objection.'

He still
didn't get it. With a resigned huff, she decided to drop it. There was no point getting into an argument all over again, but it still frustrated her to think that even though he didn't want a permanent relationship with her, he still felt he had a right to
state his objection.
But he was clearly just as miserable about their disagreement as she was, and that had to be a positive thing.

Rebecca heard voices outside as she passed by the front door and immediately backtracked. Peering through the screen, she saw her daughters standing on the footpath, backpacks making them look like upright turtles, talking to someone in a dark car. Instantly her motherly instincts kicked into gear and she pushed open the door, heading outside, her heart lodged in her throat.