Nobody but Him (24 page)

Dan wrapped his long arms around Barbra and enclosed her in a hug. She pulled her coat is tight around her and waved a final goodbye as she left. Lizzie and Dan watched the door close behind her and sat in silence. Lizzie pushed the ice around her soft drink with a short white straw. Dan reset his cutlery. Lizzie straightened the white linen tablecloth and noticed a tray of empty glasses on the bar that should have been cleared by now. Dan checked the time again.

Lizzie stood to leave. ‘Well, it’s been interesting meeting you, Dan.’

To her shock, Dan startled and reached across the table to grab her hand.

‘C’mon, Lizzie. Shouldn’t we have just one more drink?’

Lizzie looked down into his face and didn’t want to like what she saw there, not one bit. She’d known the minute she walked in to the pub that he was trouble. It wasn’t how fine looking he was. It wasn’t how he’d taken a good long look at her as she’d approached the table. It wasn’t the way he’d greeted her with a sexy smirk or the way he held her hand just that little bit too long when he shook it.

It was entirely about the shimmering sensation that zapped right up her body when he did all those things, the one that had her eyes go wide and her stomach tumble like she’d fallen head first off a surfboard. And now he was asking her to stay for a drink.

‘You want me to sit here with you and have a drink? Me, the naïve hippie.’

‘Hey, your words, honey, not mine.’

She tried to shake him off, but he stood too, moving around the corner of the table, closer to her. He spoke quietly in her ear.

‘Sit down, will you? I’ve had a hell of a day. I haven’t eaten since breakfast, I’m hungry as hell and it looks like I just lost my bed for the night. I sure could use a drink.’

Someone who’d worked in bars as long as Lizzie was familiar with every pick-up line imaginable and had been on the receiving end of every possible mode of persuasion. So he wanted a bed for the night. She might have known. That didn’t mean she wasn’t disappointed.

‘I don’t think so, mate.’ She shook off his hand and grabbed her coat and bag. ‘Good night.’

Julia was shaking. Sitting on the sofa in her mother’s house, she was quivering like a plucked guitar string. She was damn well hoping it was the cold night air that was making her thrum and not something else. Ry’s last words to her played over and over in her head.

Have a nice life
.

She pressed her palms into her eyes to block out the memory of that final look on his face, empty, haunted and heart-breakingly sad. But it wouldn’t go away. His face was there, stubbornly behind her eyes, his voice in her ears, his name on the tip of her tongue. She tried to stem the tide of her tears. A deep breath became a sob but she used every ounce of her strength to stop it.
Stop. Breathe
.

God, had she made the mother of all mistakes.

She’d come back to Middle Point with a major detour through La La Land. What the hell had she been thinking, getting involved with Ry Blackburn again? Hadn’t she learned anything in the fifteen years since she’d left? What was the adage? Those who didn’t learn from history were doomed to repeat it? In that case, she’d been doomed from the day she decided to help Lizzie out at the pub.

It seemed every bit of good sense had deserted her and now she was paying the price for her lapse of judgment. Damn her ridiculous hormones and her insane idea that somehow she could indulge in no-strings attached sex with Ry. As soon as it was over, she knew, deep down she knew and hadn’t wanted to admit it, that it had been so much more than sex. She’d allowed herself to wallow in a hormonal haze, letting her ovaries run the show, when her gut clearly should have been in charge. She’d let herself believe that a fling with Ry Blackburn wouldn’t matter, that their history didn’t matter.

And then, when he’d walked away from her tonight, she finally understood that it mattered in every conceivable way. She’d let herself imagine a future in which Julia 2.0 had a starring role. But in reality, she was, and had always been, little Julia Jones from Middle Point. She’d worked damned hard to change her life, to let go of everything that screamed small-town about her. She had an important corporate job in a big city, advising major national clients about dangerous risks to their reputations and their share prices. She donated to charity regularly, was a decent friend. Had been a generous and loving daughter. She was a good person. How dare Ry say that she hadn’t cared about anyone or anything for fifteen years?

Tears slid down Julia’s face. She clutched her stomach to ward off the queasiness she felt deep in her gut. Her head was pounding, and she let herself slip sideways onto the sofa to half lie down, the cool of the vinyl was a relief against her burning cheeks.

Julia knew she should have trusted her gut instinct to stay away from Ry, to not get involved again. They should have stayed as far away from each other as possible. During her ill-advised detour through La La Land, she had imagined that he would be the only one to get hurt. The look on his face as he’d uttered those last words to her cut her in two. His eyes narrow, his mouth twisted, his eyes stormy. She’d done the damage all right. But not just to Ry.

In the night-time darkness of the living room, a pale light flickered intermittently and a vibrating buzz echoed on the floor. A message on her phone. Julia was almost too scared to look. Was it him? She found her phone and summoned the courage to check the display.

It was a text from Lizzie. A shudder of relief ran through her.

You okay?

She messaged back, her tears making it hard to read the letters.

Bring wine and chocolate
.

Lizzie stood breathless and puffing at the front door, her cheeks red and her hair blown into bed hair. In the crook of one arm, she carried a wicker basket that looked full to the brim.

‘That was fast,’ Julia sniffed.

‘It sounded like an emergency.’

Julia wiped her nose with a crinkled up tissue before stepping back and letting Lizzie in.

‘What’s happened with you and Ry?’

Julia closed the door and padded in her ugg boots to the orange vinyl sofa. She plonked herself down and pulled the purple rug around her. She couldn’t find any words.

‘C’mon Jools. You’re killing me. Did you get to have make-up sex or not?’

Julia shivered. ‘Nothing happened. Nothing more is ever going to happen.’

‘Oh God, really?’

Julia nodded emphatically. ‘His last words to me were “have a nice life”.’

‘Shit a brick.’

‘It’s over. What never really began is most definitely over. Finito. Kaput.’

Lizzie frowned. ‘I figured the booty call for chocolate and wine wasn’t a good sign.’

‘I should have listened to you from the very beginning, Lizzie. You said I hadn’t thought this through and you were dead right. I didn’t think it through. You are the wisest woman I know, Lizzie Blake.’

Lizzie found space on the sofa next to Julia, snuggled in close, and pulled the blanket over her knees.

‘Not really, Jools. You shouldn’t listen to me. I mean, I have absolutely no authority in the romantic advice department. Look at my love life. Of course, I was worried for you at first, but then, seeing you two together, I thought it might all work out for you two. You both deserve it so much.’

They found each other’s hands and held on tight.

‘A little part of me was holding on to a fantasy. Which is totally pathetic, I know. But tonight I realised we’re just too different. We always were. I didn’t want to see it. He’s turned out to be like every other weekender in this place, all life’s advantages handed to him on a silver platter, throwing his money around to get his way.’

Lizzie squeezed her hand tighter. ‘Jools, that’s not entirely fair.’

‘No, Lizzie. I thought he loved this place, but he’s only in Middle Point to make a fast buck on a dodgy housing development. If this is all so special to him, how could he possibly be thinking of ruining it? All he cares about is the money. He told me so himself. That’s why he bought the pub and the house because he’ll make a good capital gain out of them when he sells up.’

Julia fumbled in her pocket for another tissue. She felt humiliated. Not only had she thought she’d understood him, but she thought she had become his equal. A suit, just like him.

But she’d been kidding herself on that score too. She would always be the girl from Middle Point, filled with doubt about who she was and what she’d tried to achieve. And he would always be the city boy. Had he ever lost that sure confidence he wore on his arrogantly handsome face? Had he ever doubted his way, or his choices? Had he ever tried to hide where he’d come from and who he really was? Had he ever felt unworthy? Had he ever had to struggle, really struggle, for anything in his life?

Not bloody likely.

‘Thanks for coming Lizzie.’

‘Why don’t you grab a couple of glasses? I have wine.’

‘And chocolate?’

‘Is the Pope Catholic?’

The next day, Ry and Dan sat on the hood of Ry’s SUV looking out over the future home of the Windswept Development. It was clear and the morning sun was strong; the men were warmed through their winter coats. Around them were hectares of flat land, dotted with the remains of broken-down sheds and a graveyard of rusted old cars. On the northern side, on a neighbouring property, gently rising hills were criss-crossed by fence lines. On the eastern edge, a shallow pool of water was being whipped into ripples by the breeze. Gathering around its edges were seagulls and magpie larks, splashing and fluttering, enjoying the refuge. To the west, beyond the boundary, a few houses were scattered in the golden grasses of nearby paddocks. It was peaceful and quiet.

Dan loosened his tie and pointed northwards. ‘I think McSwaine Avenue should run right through the middle, don’t you?’

Ry chuckled. ‘Oh really?’

‘C’mon Ry. Then I’ll be able to bring my kids here one day, show them that street sign and tell them their dad made a little history here.’

Ry’s brow creased with a question. ‘What kids?’

‘Mate, it would be a cruel blow to the rest of the human race if these genes didn’t get passed on to another generation.’

‘You’d better find a woman to have you, first. And on the road thing? I’m overruling you. It’s going to be Charles Blackburn Drive.’

‘I can’t argue with that.’ Dan nodded. They stared off into the distance, enjoying the companionable silence and the view.

‘So.’ Dan peered at Ry over his sunglasses.

‘So what?’

‘So. What happened last night with you and Julia?’

Ry didn’t answer.

‘Any make-up sex you want to tell me about?’

‘Sex? With Julia?’ Ry shook his head. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘That’s it? You two?’

‘Yes. No.’ Ry blew out a frustrated breath. ‘I don’t fucking know. Last night, just before I stormed off down the street like the complete arsehole I am, I told her to have a nice life. Not one of my better moments.’

‘She’s driving you crazy, right?’

‘No shit.’

‘So, were you just scratching an itch or what?’

‘Scratching an itch?’

‘You know, getting her out of your system, laying those demons to rest. Maybe that’s all it was between you two and you’re done.’

‘Thanks again, Dr Phil.’

Ry had to stop and think about Dan’s question. Was he right? Was this whole thing with Julia some kind of twisted revenge, his way of getting back at Julia? He let those thoughts sit a moment and ditched them. That wasn’t the kind of man he was. He knew for sure, in his gut, that he wanted her now more than ever. That wasn’t revenge.

Dan shrugged his shoulders. ‘So she doesn’t like Windswept. Don’t sweat it. She’ll come around. I mean look at this dump. We’re gonna turn it into something.’

‘I think that ship has sailed, Danny Boy.’

‘Believe me, she’ll understand what this is and so will her hippie mate. Eventually.’

‘We talking about the same Lizzie? At one point I thought she was going to leap over the table at dinner and tie herself to something in protest.’

‘Yeah, she’s feisty. After you two left, I tried to get her to stay and have a drink with me but she ran right out the door. Can you believe it? Who wouldn’t want a piece of this?’

Ry eyed his friend up and down. ‘Her, apparently.’

‘Look, Ry, there’s one thing I don’t get. You’ve had a hard-on for Julia Jones for as long as I’ve known you and you’re just gonna walk away? If there’s one thing I know about you, mate, it’s that you don’t piss off when the shit hits the fan. You dig in. Why aren’t you digging in with her if you want her that much?’

Hadn’t the past five years been all about digging in? They wouldn’t be standing there admiring the view if he hadn’t stuck at it when the shit hit the fan. So why had he walked away so easily from Julia? The truth was hard to admit. He’d wanted her to be impressed. Plain and simple. He’d wanted her to know that he could build something, that he could create something lasting, not just bricks and mortar, but a community of people, a place people wanted to live in, a place they could
afford
to live in. Windswept wasn’t a millionaire’s row for retired city businesspeople and lawyers. They could already afford to buy the best views on the flat beaches and high cliff tops all along the Peninsula. He wasn’t interested in padding their superannuation nest eggs. He was building Windswept for everyone else who wanted a piece of paradise. That’s what he had to get her to understand. And he’d ballsed up his opportunity the night before to do it. He hadn’t given her the chance to find out that he wasn’t just another property developer with shallow pockets looking for a cheap and quick return on investment. Windswept was a ten-year plan. Hell, a twenty-year plan. He had to get her to see that.

He slapped Dan on the shoulder.

‘What?’

‘Get our media people on the line. We need to get a story into the local paper.’

Julia propped her sunglasses on her head and held out her phone at arms length, aiming it at her mother’s house. She was angling to frame the entire
For Sale
sign in the photo. For posterity. The end of an era. The end of her links to Middle Point. Someday soon, when someone with deep enough pockets came along, it would no longer be known as the Kinsella place. And that made her sad.