Nobody but Him (19 page)

‘C’mon Julia, I love hearing about people. Tell me your story. How is it
that you made it all the way to Melbourne but never further than Bali?’

Julia broke out in a sweat. She was used to peppering people with questions when she was trying to get to the bottom of their crisis. Who did what to whom? Who knew? When did you tell the government? The Australian Stock Exchange? Your shareholders? Your employees? Your wife?

But this?

Barbra sipped her wine and waited expectantly.

‘I was accepted into university in Melbourne and never left. I scored my dream job just after graduating and I’ve been working hard ever since. That’s why I’ve never made it further than Bali.’

Barbra scoffed. ‘Surely you get holidays in this dream job of yours?’

‘Only a couple of weeks at a time, scattered throughout the year. That’s not enough time to really go anywhere.’

‘Julia,’ Barbra sighed in sympathetic frustration. ‘That’s not nearly enough. And it explains why you look so exhausted.’

Julia’s hands flew to her cheeks. ‘I do?’

‘You do, my darling. Take it from someone who’s been there. I have a question for you.’

God, another one?

‘Yes?’

‘Have you actually stopped running since you left Middle Point all those years ago?’

Running.
Is that what she’d been doing? Running from the person she used to be?

‘I had a lot to prove,’ Julia said quietly.

‘To whom?’ Barbra’s eyes were kind and something welled up inside Julia.

‘That’s a very good question.’ It was one she couldn’t answer.

Barbra got to her feet and reached out for the bottle of wine. ‘Enough with the questions. I was planning to settle in on the sofa and spend the night with my favourite leading man, Robert Redford. Care to join me for
The Way We Were
?’

Julia smiled. The ultimate chick-flick from the previous generation. Just what she needed.

‘That would be wonderful.’ They found comfortable spots on the sofa and Barbra slid the DVD into the player.

‘Did you know that Barbra Streisand won a Grammy for her first album–’

‘And an Oscar for her first movie!’ Barbra added with delight.

Yes!’

‘She’s the reason I dropped the spare “a” from my name when I was a teenager. I’ve been a fan forever.’

An hour later, dozy with a few more glasses of wine, Julia was so engrossed in the hypnotising love story and Barbra Streisand’s fingernails, that she didn’t bother getting up to answer her phone when it rang. She’d imagined it was Lizzie calling her back, but given she was now clean, fed, warmed and wined, she decided to call back in the morning.

Later that night, Julia lay in her bed, in which twenty-four hours before she’d been well and truly rogered. Shagged. Done. Had. None of those words seemed quite right. Now, the bed seemed empty without Ry and a chill settled into her bones that no pile of extra blankets could drive away. Compared with the warmth of his house, her small room felt like the frozen food section of a supermarket.

Under the blankets, she pressed her phone to her ear and listened to his message again. Just the sound of his deep and utterly masculine voice was enough to get her stomach flip-flopping like a fish on a hook.

‘Hey Julia, it’s me. Are you there? You must be in the shower … oh God, I can’t think about you being naked right now when I’m here and you’re there. How’s the painting going? Can’t wait to see it. Look, last night was … incredible. I want to do it again. And again. And again. Call me back.’

It hadn’t been Lizzie on the phone after all. It had been Ry, calling back, as he said he would. Solid, steadfast, that’s how he seemed to her. He said he would call and he did. He said he would help her out and he’d been right there alongside her, working as hard as she was.

Fifteen years ago if someone had read her coffee grounds and predicted that she would find such delight in painting a house, she would have laughed in their face. She hadn’t wanted anything resembling that existence when she was younger, hadn’t wanted the stability of home or a conformist and unadventurous existence. She’d wanted to blaze trails and create a life for herself. And she’d done all that and was proud of it. She
didn’t have any regrets about leaving her old life for a new one. Did she? Barbra’s question had her thinking. What had she been trying to prove and to whom?

Julia listened to his phone message again.

I want to do it again. And again. And again.

Ry’s words, and the barely disguised desire behind his deep growl, thrilled her all over again. This man, this gorgeous man, still wanted her. And her body seemed to want him right back, judging by the way she was thrumming just at the sound of his voice.

She also heard, once again, Lizzie’s cautionary words in her head. What were she and Ry really doing? Fifteen years before, when she’d told him it was over, it didn’t feel like an itch or a scab. It felt like a flesh wound.

His glistening eyes. Angry. Fuck you. Don’t you care about us? About me? His words ringing in her ears as she drove away. Salty tears blurring her vision as she changed gears. Daring herself not to look in the rear-view mirror. A hole in her chest.

What she couldn’t fathom was why he’d seemed to put all that history aside to help her. Once he’d discovered the real reason she was back in Middle Point, he’d not said a word about what had happened in the past, had not asked one single question. What kind of a man did that?

She knew that any sensible woman would fall madly in love with a guy like Ry Blackburn. And a sensible woman would not give him up for a second time.

Julia squinted at her reflection in the foggy bathroom mirror and tried to breathe away the nausea.

‘Remind me never to drink again,’ she groaned to the pasty-looking woman staring back at her. Her brown curls were fuzzed into a matted mess, there were puffy black circles under her eyes that hadn’t been there yesterday and mysterious lines were pressed into her cheeks. The relentless throbbing in her head pounded with every heartbeat, and her mouth tasted like a small rodent had crawled in during the night and died there.
Ugh
.

Julia bent down over the hand basin to splash her face with frigid water, racking her fuzzy brain to remember exactly how many glasses of red wine she and Barbra had quaffed the night before. Then she realised with a sinking stomach that she’d better start counting bottles instead of glasses. Her stomach revolted against the idea of food, so she brushed her teeth slowly, gingerly put on some warm clothes and started out on the painful walk to Lizzie’s. There was nothing like a stiff ocean breeze to flush away the cobwebs and nothing like her oldest friend to help in the desperate quest for a decent coffee.

By the time Julia arrived, her simple quest had become a search for the Holy Grail.

‘Why come in.’ Lizzie opened her front door wide, a sunny smile lighting up her face, and she ushered Julia in. ‘Welcome to the world of the cynical best friend.’ Lizzie waltzed into the kitchen with a spring in her step and her every movement made Julia’s stomach pitch and roll. She followed at a snail’s pace, peeling off her coat and scarf in slow motion, excruciatingly aware of the link between moving and the throbbing in her skull.

‘Hey Jools,’ Lizzie called, her toned butt in the air as she fished around in the fridge for her ground coffee. ‘I feel bad about what I said to you the other day. Who am I to get in between you and some mind-blowing sex with my boss.’ She closed the fridge door, looked over to Julia and her blue eyes twinkled as she laughed. ‘Sorry, that’s going to take some getting
used to.’

Julia groaned and took a deep breath. ‘Coffee. Now. Especially if we’re going to talk about sex.’

‘Ooh, you don’t look good.’

Julia lowered herself into a kitchen chair and dropped her head in her hands. Lizzie boiled the kettle and prepared the French press with a couple of scoops of ground coffee. She poured hot water into it, grabbed two cups and brought them over to the table. The aroma of coffee did something to the nausea and Julia found herself able to take a deep breath and lift her head. Coffee meant Lygon Street and home and it cheered her, ever so slightly.

‘Who were you drinking with last night and why wasn’t I there?’ Lizzie demanded.

‘Robert Redford. And Ry’s mother.’

Lizzie spluttered. ‘Oh my God, you’ve met the mother-in-law.’

‘I’m going to pretend I didn’t just hear you say that.’

‘So what’s she like, Ry’s mum?’

‘She’s great actually. We get on like a house on fire.’ Julia was still finding it hard to believe just how down-to-earth Barbra Blackburn was and how much fun they’d had together. ‘But she’s a very bad influence.’

‘I’m not going to let her take the wrap for your sore head. I think you learned to drink long before you met her.’ Lizzie planted her elbows on the table and leaned in. ‘Now are we going to talk about the sex you’re having with her son?’

Julia lowered her head to the table, turned to the side and smiled ruefully at Lizzie. ‘There’s nothing much to tell, really. We had sex. I’m going back to Melbourne and he’s staying here. The end.’
We had sex
. Sure, it was that simple. Except it wasn’t. It was mind-numbing, blow-the top-of-your-head-off sex. In the space of one exquisite shag, Ry Blackburn had erased every memory of sex with any other man.

‘Well, that’s depressing.’

‘Why?’

Lizzie’s eyebrows raised and Julia could feel a lecture coming on. ‘Because it’s not every day a girl meets someone who looks at you the way he looks at you. Like he wants to rip off all your clothes and, you know, do the wild and crazy.’

Did Ry really look at her like that? ‘You must have been looked at like
that, Lizzie. I mean, look at you.’

Lizzie scoffed. ‘Jools, I’ve been working in pubs my whole life. I’ve been stared at, checked out and perved on. But I’ve never had anyone look at me the way Ry Blackburn looks at you. God, I could feel the heat just standing by the rubbish bin.’

Julia blew out a breath. There was a strange tingling low down in her belly and this particular rumbling had nothing to do with too much alcohol and everything to do with wanting Ry again. He had been her first and was certainly her best. She couldn’t think about him being her last love. No, that was not sensible.

The caffeine fix worked, and a couple of hours later Julia was home. Some decent BFF time with Lizzie, a good half-hour staring out at the ocean, a few cups of coffee, and some time analysing the latest Hollywood marriages and divorces in a glossy magazine. All nice little time-wasters to keep her from returning Ry’s call.

Julia still hadn’t decided quite what she was going to say to him, exactly how she was going to explain her behaviour. She put on her

work hat and plotted out the three possible options to respond to this crisis:

1. Thanks but it was a stupid thing to do and it can’t happen again.
   
2. Thanks and I’ll see you round.
   
3. Thanks and it was the best damn sex I’ve ever had and when can we have some more?
   

Her heart fought for number three. But her gut (number one) and her head (number two) continued to debate the options. She rummaged around in her handbag for her phone and walked to the front windows of her house to take in the view.

It was a pale afternoon, the sun weak in the winter sky, with only a few wispy clouds to break up the blue. She looked over the low sand dunes nestled between the esplanade and the ocean, and it seemed as if the bright white seaside daisies covering them were smiling at her, taunting her to be as happy as they were. Past them, the waves pounded the beach as they had forever, their throbbing rhythm both familiar and reassuring to her. Julia was surprised to realise she’d actually missed this view, missed its
calming affect on her spirit in the years since she’d moved away. The kilometres-long beach, the scrubby dunes and the Middle Point cliffs had been her playground ever since she could walk. A place where a person could often stroll along for an hour and see only seagulls strutting on the sand or pelicans gracefully drifting high above on the warm updrafts. Now, her playground was a bustling metropolis of four million people, where she was lulled to sleep not by the ceaseless pounding of the Southern Ocean, but by arrogant car horns and the smell of burning cooking oil.

It was time to make the call. She’d run out of excuses. Julia selected the contacts list on her phone and with a deep breath, pressed Ry’s name. All of two rings later, the call connected.

‘Mr Blackburn’s phone.’

‘Oh … Hello? Is Ry there?’

‘I’m sorry he’s not available at the moment. May I take a message?’ The woman’s voice was so crisply efficient and patiently non-judgmental that Julia surmised she was quite used to strange women calling Ry’s number. Julia squirmed. This super-efficient PA probably thought she was the latest in a conga line of women who were chasing Middle Point’s most eligible bachelor. Julia felt a familiar heat prickle in her cheeks and she summoned her super-professional Melbourne-cool persona.

‘Thank you kindly, if you could say that Ms Julia Jones called?’

‘Of course. May I have your phone number, Ms Jones?’

‘He has my details,’ Julia replied crisply.

‘I’ll pass on that message for you. Thank you for your call.’

Julia shoved the phone in her jeans pocket. She’d done the polite and
businesslike
thing, returned his call, and that was that. So what if he’d said things in that ferociously sexy voice of his about having sex again and again and again. Big deal if he’d been thinking about her naked, in the shower. She didn’t care that just thinking about his message had her wanting to plant her hands on his arse and pull him so close she could crush her breasts against his chest and feel the whisper of his breath on her lips.

So what if he hadn’t been hanging out for her call like a lovesick teenager? He was a busy man, running a company. He couldn’t just pick up his phone in the middle of the day, she knew that. Of course he was going to have someone else run interference on his calls. What didn’t make per
fect sense to Julia was why she was staring out to sea fretting over why he didn’t personally take her call. Damn it,
she
was the one acting like a lovesick teenager. Which she most definitely was not.