Page 30 of Trouble in Love
Dad huffed a laugh but left me to face the consequences, sneaking out to get coffee when she gave himthe look.“Polly. How can you say such horrible things about your family? Your grandparents, bless their souls, loved you and each other very much.”
“Hmm. Nothing says I love you like multiple rod-induced concussions and salmonella-laced pork buns.” Chuckling despite herself led her to wince and groan as pain shot through her leg. “Try not to laugh at my cruelty, Mum.” I teased, “Or your God will punish you with another infection.” I brushed myfingers over her clammy skin, sweeping the damp hair away before reapplying a cool compress.
As annoying and horrible as she was at times, she was still my mum and seeing her so sick scared me. She could have asked me to meet Jack the Ripper, and I’d have said yes. Plus, she’d been ... lovely. We didn’t argue. There was no IVF pushing, and my need to commit matricide had dulled significantly.
After all, I had done, losing my freedom was a price worth paying if it finally brought us peace.
“My two girls are smiling. Ahh, that makes this old man’s heart swell.” Dad cheered as he knocked on the door jamb before passing through with a bunch of Mum’s favorite yellow roses in one hand, and a bag of red licorice, my favorite lolly, in the other. He’d been at the pub all day, his aging face wearied. “I’ve come to swap shifts, Plop. For some reason, the boys at the bar think you’re better to stare at while they get plastered. Who’d have thought?”
“They must have been drunk before they arrived,” I deadpanned.
“That’s not true, Polly.” smiled Mum. “You’ll not find a prettier face in this whole town.”
I waited for the “Shame about your body.” Or “Except for that darling Evie Austen,” but it never came. In the face of such unprecedented flattery, I was almost speechless.
“Thanks, Mum.” I removed the damp washcloth from her face, pressed a light kiss to her temple, and then did the same to Dad.
“Don’t forget your licorice, darling,” Mum’s weakened voice called. “You need some sugar. You’re far too thin.” Again, I waited for the snark, and again, no one came.
Grabbing my wrist, Dad pulled me closer and whispered in my ear. “What the hell is going on, Polly? I knew things had improved, but when I came in, you both looked … happy. And now this. A compliment?”
“Delirious with fever?” I replied, “That’s the only explanation.”
Spending all day at the hospital and all night at the bar left me exhausted, but even with Elias looming, I was oddly content. The public lynching I’d expected on my return never eventuated, mum was acting not mum-like, and being so close to the water again brought a sense of peace I’d not felt in ... ever.
What also came was Luna. On the eighth day of my absence, she rocked up wearing six-inch stilettos, a long sweater that barely covered her ass, and not much else. I was in standard pub wear, a black tee, skirt, apron, and ugly, comfy flats. With minimal makeup and my hair swept up in a messy bun, I looked nothing like theSydneyme Luna was used to.
“Holy shit. You look … normal,” she declared, winking at my fellow bartender Henry, and popping herself on a barstool right before me. “Don’t get me wrong, annoyingly you’re still the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen, apart from the Doc, of course … oh, and your cowboy—”
“Not my cowboy,” I muttered.
“Sure. Whatever. Anyway, as I was saying before you so rudely interrupted me, you are still stunning. Just … different. Ewingsdale bar wench suits you, Pol.”
“Thanks … I think.” Leaning across the bar, I squeezed Luna with all the affection I could muster. “Why are you here? I thought we talked about my required degrees of separation.”
“We did. You talked. I listened, ignored, and arrived. Simple. Now, what’s your fanciest, fluffiest, most alcoholic cocktail? Seven-and-a-half hours in your smelly old car requires hefty memory obliteration.”
As I gasped, I began to mix. “You brought the Corolla up for me?”
“I did. I know how much you love that piece of shit, and since you’re going to be here for a while, I thought you might be able to use her for an occasional escape.”
“Luna!” An uncharacteristic level of joy led me to hug her again, a hum of pleasure sneaking in too. “You’re the best.”
“I am, and you owe me big time.”
“That I do. Why don’t we start with that drink? I suck at super fluffy cocktails, but how about an espresso martini? Triple everything.”
“You know me too well, my love. This is great. I need to enjoy loving, grateful Polly while I can. Oh, and you better make it two.”
“Two what?” I asked, turning to grab some ice.
“Two martinis.” There was every chance one was for me, but I could tell by her breathless, forced giggle that it wasn’t.
“What did you do, Luna?”
“I didn’t do anything … that I absolutely shouldn’t have.”
Before I could reply, a deep, rumbly voice reverberated through me, stealing the air from my lungs, and loosening my grip on the glass, that fell and smashed against the sticky tile floor.
