Nobody but Him (20 page)

Her gut instinct starting winning the fight and option two seemed to suit her mood:
Thanks but it was a stupid thing to do and it can’t happen again.

As the alcohol began to slowly fade from her system, diluted by coffee and the passing of the morning, it was replaced by a stubborn determination to continue on her task of sorting out her mother’s things and putting the past to rest. Time was short, she resolved, too short to spend pining. Julia knew there was still lots to do and little time to do it in. With another mug of hot coffee in her hand, she stood at the threshold of her mother’s room, nervous.

This was the one place Julia hadn’t touched since her mother had died and she realised with a wrench of guilt and grief that she hadn’t actually walked into the room since she’d been back in Middle Point. This part had been too hard. At the doorway, the scent of lavender hit her and the memories came flooding back.

Julia had had a lavender-scented childhood. Mary Kinsella had loved the flower. It thrived in the sandy soils and burning sun of Middle Point, just as she had. When they bloomed, Mary would harvest the deep violet flowers, dry them and collect them into small calico pouches tied with purple ribbons. She would hide them in Julia’s pillowcase, to help her get through her school exams and to bring on sleep, and in every drawer to deter moths. Julia took a deep breath to let the scent fill her nostrils.

Her mother’s bed was still neatly made and Julia leaned down to run her fingers over the soft white flannelette sheets. A thin layer of dust and sand was rough on her fingertips. This had been a place of love, not only for her parents, but for the three of them. There had always been Sunday morning cuddles and tight hugs to ward off bad dreams and fears.

Julia caught sight of a small, wooden jewellery box on the dressing table. The memory of it made her smile. She’d attempted it in a woodwork class in high school, and burned haphazardly on its lid was a rather odd-shaped attempt at a Southern Right Whale. There were no jewels or anything of value in the box, Julia knew. Her mother had never been one for adornments, except for the plain gold wedding band she continued to wear, even though she’d been a widow for so many years before she died.

Next to the box, in a solid wooden frame, was a photo of the three of them. It had been her mother’s favourite, snapped on Julia’s seventeenth birthday. Lizzie had taken that photo on the beach on the esplanade across from the house. It had been a brilliantly hot and sunny summer day, what the locals called a million-dollar day at Middle Point, when the sun is strong, the wind is calm and it feels like the sapphire-blue ocean and white-tipped waves go on and on past the horizon. The three of them were dripping wet, squinting and laughing, Julia between her mother and father, their arms about each other in a loving tangle.

The tears came and she let them flow. This was the last photo of them all together and Julia felt a familiar and devastating heartbreak at the knowledge that their lives had shattered to pieces just months later. Unbearable sadness and grief had replaced the laughter and the love in their house. Julia held the photo tight to her chest, pressed it to her heart. She’d been there before, in this dark place. Her parents had been cruelly robbed of a long and happy life together. And, now, her parents had been stolen from her, too.

Sorting out the living area had been one thing, but this was agonisingly different. She placed the frame carefully on the bed, and pulled open the stiff top drawer of the dresser. Sitting there was an old shoebox, marked simply ‘Julia.’ The lid came off easily and inside the box, she found scraps of paper, old photos, some reports from high school, postcards and old letters. Mary had never invested in a computer so Julia wrote her letters. She snapped off a brittle rubber band and flicked through the thick wad of yellowing envelopes and postcards. One in particular caught her eye. Julia recognised the image of the Melbourne Cricket Ground and flipped it over.

Dear Mum,

The MCG is huge! I spent a day there at the cricket just for Dad. He would have loved it that Australia beat England! Melbourne is BRILL. Uni is great. I’ve made lots of new friends and the share house is nearby so I can ride my bike everywhere. Missing you lots, your loving daughter, Jools xxxxxxx

Of course it had all been a lie. Julia remembered that day at the cricket. She’d gone alone and found herself right next to the infamous Bay 13, notoriously full of drunken fans by about morning-tea time. She’d known her mother would have been disappointed to discover that her daughter was spending most of her free time working at a local café washing dishes or in her room in that revolting share house, hiding in a book.

So she’d pretended to be happy; covered up her sadness with little white lies for her mother’s sake. Julia had been so terribly lonely that first year she’d been away from home, but was too stubborn to admit it to anyone. Lizzie was a gazillion miles away in London and snail mail was useless for confessional letters. By the time they arrived and then a reply was sent back, the original crisis was long forgotten and six or seven more had come and gone.

Julia packed up the papers and placed them carefully into a storage box marked ‘keep’. She couldn’t bear to look at any more memories.

Once she’d emptied all the dresser drawers, Julia turned to the old wooden wardrobe. It was still filled with her mother’s clothes and Julia had already decided to donate them all. Karma. It would be a nice circle, as her mother had been a regular customer in second-hand shops all along the coast, believing that recycling was next to Godliness. Julia got to work. Hanger by hanger she cleaned out the space, folded and sorted, and created piles around her on the rug. Right at the back of the top shelf she caught sight of a large sandy-coloured cardboard box. Julia fetched a chair and reached up, testing the weight of it, which she found was surprisingly light. When she dropped it on the bed, a layer of dust wafted into the air.

As Julia opened the lid, a fresh wave of lavender teased her. She gently pushed aside layers of crinkled blue tissue paper and discovered beautifully soft, cool cotton beneath her fingers. Nestling the material loose, she carefully lifted the cloth high until it unfolded with a plop of rustling fabric onto her ugg boots.

It was her mother’s wedding dress. A pulse of sadness shimmered through her and lodged in her throat. She hadn’t seen it since she was a little girl, when she’d coveted it like any young girl would have. The sleeveless dress was her mother all over, pure 1970s hippie princess. Its high neckline was trimmed with soft lace, and featured a line of embroidered flowers stitched into the sheer bodice. A wide satin ribbon circled the small waist and a double-layered skirt flowed to the floor, almost see-through as Julia held it up to the light.

Her mother had never let her try it on when she was little and curiosity rose up in her. She pushed the thought away. She was taller than her mother, perhaps her breasts were bigger, so no, it probably wouldn’t fit her. And she’d never, ever been close to needing such a ridiculously romantic gown. There were no prospects on that front as she knew only too well.

But when Julia turned to the mirror, her hands seemed to act with a will of their own, and the dress lifted to her shoulders. She had her mother’s curvy hips and small waist, so maybe it wouldn’t hurt to try it on? And then she got the giggles. If her mother knew what she was doing, she would no doubt be laughing at the stubbornness of her only child.

‘Forgive me, Mum,’ she laughed to herself.

She put the dress carefully back on the bed and peeled off her jumper and jeans. One look at her red bra and undies and she realised they would spoil the effect through the almost sheer dress, so she stripped those off too, and stood shivering in the cold. The long zip at the back of the dress was a little stiff, and she took care before lowering it and stepping in, the dress smoothing gently over her naked body, the cool cotton giving her goosebumps. She gently threaded her fingers through the armholes and lifted the dress onto her shoulders. Reaching to her neck, Julia flicked her curls out from the neckline, reached her fingers around to zip the dress closed. A shimmer of something unfamiliar buzzed through her as she turned to the mirror.

And then she saw herself. It took her a minute to take it in.

‘Oh God.’

Julia could only stare at her reflection, mesmerised by how beautiful she felt in her mother’s dress. The small waist fitted her snugly and perfectly, the flared skirt skimmed her curvy hips and wafted to the floor, the soft lace trim at the hem fluttered against her ankles.

The fabric still glowed fresh and white and, for once, Julia appreciated her pale skin. The soft cotton of the dress lit up her face, filled the shadows under her eyes and highlighted her dark curls and illuminating smile. She felt delicate and light in it, transported away from her life, her mother’s room and this little house in Middle Point, into an imagined world where life was as simple as deciding which pretty dress to wear to your own wedding to the man of your dreams.

Julia’s phone chimed and still half-dazed, she found it in the pocket of her jeans. Pressing the screen to take the call, she barely took her eyes off the mirror. She simply couldn’t help it. She’d never seen herself looking so … lovely.

‘Hello?’ It came out dreamy and slow and she let out a relaxing breath.

‘Hi Julia, it’s me.’ And then a pause. ‘It’s Ry.’

A quiver started in her toes and shimmied up her belly, lodging there to make her feel nauseous again. Her heart pounded like a drum. Why hadn’t she checked the damn display to see who it was? His deep voice sounded so masculine and gruff that it sent an instant zing right through her, sapping every fingertip and toe, and each sensitive part of her in between. Her nipples stiffened and she could see them plain as day, jabbing through the sheer fabric as if they were trying to escape.

Shit. Shit. Shit.
She gripped the flowing fabric in her free hand.

‘Oh hi, Ry.’ Oh, how she wished that had come out breezy rather than breathy.

‘Have I caught you at a bad time?’

‘No, no.’
I’m just standing here like a desperate single woman in a stupid wedding dress having ludicrous fantasies about a life I will never have.
‘Not at all. How are you?’

‘I got the message that you called. Sorry … could you hang on? No, I’ll be there in a minute.’ Julia heard a mumble of different voices and a door open and close.

‘Hey,’ he said gently, letting out a deep breath. ‘How’re you doing?’ And that quiver started again. Her cheeks burned and she tugged at the high neckline of the wedding dress, suddenly feeling like she was choking.

‘I’m good. I’ve been … I’ve been working here at the house.’

‘Much more to do before you … leave?’

‘No, not much.’ Julia rapped herself on the forehead with a clenched fist and made a face. What had happened to her? She had a flashback to high school, in the prehistoric days before email and texts and Skype, when she used to run home and pounce on the phone, waiting desperately for it to ring and hoping with quiet desperation that it was the boy crush of the moment. These loaded and awkward silences with Ry felt so familiar that she could almost feel the stiff fabric of her blue-checked uniform brushing against her thighs.

‘If you can wait until the weekend, I’m coming back down on Friday night and I can help.’ There was a tinge of something in his voice that was different and Julia was too busy freaking out to decipher it.

‘It’s all right. I’ve got to keep moving if I want this place on the market.’

‘Oh. Right.’

Julia tore her eyes away from the mirror.

‘I’ve got a lot of contacts in real estate,’ Ry said. ‘Do you want me to recommend someone for a second opinion?’

‘No thanks. I’ve already spoken with a local guy.’

‘Okay. That’s smart, I guess. He’ll know the regional market, will be realistic about a sale price. If you want me to look over contracts, I’d be happy to help.’

The fact that he was being so goddamn nice and helpful and considerate made her feel even worse.

‘That won’t be necessary. I trust Kevin. He was my first … I mean, we went to school together. He’ll do the right thing by me, I know.’

Ry’s head started to spin.

He was definitely standing in the hallway of Blackburn and Sons, he knew that, because he could see Angela down at the reception end of the corridor taking a call and he was looking out over the familiar, expansive views of the Adelaide Hills. But he may as well have been on Mars for all the sense he could make of this conversation. He’d been itching to hear Julia’s voice again and all he was getting was polite bullshit about painting and real estate agents and a big
no thanks
to any help. He hadn’t exactly been expecting phone sex, but what the hell was this? Was this the same woman who had held his cock in her hand yesterday? Who’d exploded at his touch, who’d whispered his name in his ear as she’d come? He felt a twist in his gut. Something had changed, something had shifted between them and he didn’t like it.

‘So it sounds like you’ve got it all figured out then.’ He sounded pissed off but he didn’t care. What a fuckwit he’d been to think that what they’d shared might be the start of something. Julia was giving him every indication now that it was entirely the opposite. She was blowing him off. She was back for a couple of weeks, had everything in hand, didn’t need him and …
who the hell was Kevin?

‘Well, I might see you around on Friday when I get back to Middle Point.’ He swore silently and checked his watch, conscious that his board meeting was about to begin behind the frosted glass doors ten feet away. The most important board meeting of his life. But he couldn’t seem to end the call.

Five years of duty were tugging with fifteen years of yearning for the woman on the other end of the phone line and he felt like both were coming to a crashing conclusion at this very minute.

‘Sure,’ she said, almost too softly to be heard.

Ry waited, hoping she might say something more.

‘See you, Ry.’ Was he imagining it or did her voice catch just a little on his name?