Page 11 of Fool Me Twice

The conversation was always the same, whether it was Selina running away from her family’s scruffy beachside diner, or Lou, who dreamt of moving to London to become a model instead of slaving all day in her parents’ souvenir shop. Or Evie not wanting to get up at stupid o’clock in the dead of winter because some cow or sheep had gone into labour.

But when it came down to it, Evie was the only one who had left Waverly Bay. With her bags packed and her heart open to adventure, she’d crept out in the dead of night, leaving behind a note on her dressing table for her grandmother.

Entering the kitchen several steps behind Peter, she struggled to suppress a little smile as he hovered awkwardly on the fringes of the group. She’d known these boys since they were born, had gone to school with most of their parents – Gaz’s mum had been one of her best friends; Cy’s mum was Selina’s sister. And she’d shared her first kiss with Joey’s dad at the school disco.

As the boys wriggled down the bench to make a space for Peter, she pressed her lips together tightly, struggling to swallow down her anger at how easily they’d all accepted him. Maybe they were being nice because he was Jaxon’s father, or maybe it was because they were nice lads, and it wasn’t like he’d done anything to injure any of them. Or maybe – Evie’s stomach clenched at the thought – they just liked him.

“I can’t hang around here all day running around after you lot,” she said, trying her best to look annoyed. Not that any of them bought her act. It was a home away from home for them. Evie had always been the cool mum, and it was here they’d come to when they’d argued with their parents or their girlfriend had dumped them. She didn’t judge them. Usually, she just heard them out over a pot of tea before offering her opinion. Coming from Evie, it didn’t feel like they were being criticised or lectured, even it if was almost identical to what their own parents had said. “So, if you’ve all had enough to eat, bugger off.”

One by one, they picked up their empty plates and cups and took them over to the sink, followed by calls of “Thanks, Evie” or “Cheers, Evie” and a kiss on the cheek. She might be a cool mum, but she wasn’t a doormat. She was happy to feed them, listen to them and sometimes put them up for a few nights, but she wasn’t their mother or their girlfriend and drew the line at waiting on them hand and foot.

Again, she watched as Peter hovered on the outskirts of the group, churlishly pleased by his awkwardness. She didn’t know whether to kiss or kill Jaxon when he put his arm around his father’s shoulders and drew him into the group as they left. A little bubble of pride welled up inside her as her son made sure to include the outsider, make him feel one of them. But equally, she couldn’t help but feel a brief stab of jealousy that it was Peter he was taking such good care of, when Peter hadn’t given a fig about either of them when he’d gone back to his wife.

She hated herself for being so resentful of Jaxon’s relationship with Peter. He was Jaxon’s father, after all, and it wouldn’t be fair to make him chose between his parents or to deprive him of the chance to get to know him. But it still stung whenever she thought about how he’d treated her, cutting off all contact the way he had. It was almost as if he’d disappeared into thin air.

Her calls went straight to voicemail. She’d left maybe a dozen messages that all went unanswered. In desperation, she’d called his record label. She could still remember that bitch of an assistant spelling it out for her when she’d returned Evie’s call and said the words that ripped her heart and her world apart. “Mr Cook isn’t interested”. According to her, Peter barely even remembered her.

What did she mean he ‘wasn’t interested’? Of course, he remembered her. What the hell was she talking about? She must be mistaken. Peter wouldn’t do that to her, he wouldn’t just abandon her. He loved her. Evie persisted. Maybe whoever she’d left the message with had got it wrong. Perhaps they hadn’t told him about the baby.

Big mistake. The woman went ballistic, yelling that Mr Cook didn’t give a damn about her or her baby.

‘Did she really think Mr Cook was going to leave his wife for some masseuse who worked in a glorified brothel just because she’d got herself pregnant?’

‘How did he even know the baby was his? In her line of work, it could be anyone’s.’

‘What was she going to do, take him to court? The baby would have to undergo a paternity test and then there’d be a lengthy court case.’

‘What if Mr and Mrs Cook applied for custody? What judge in his right mind would give her custody? She was basically squatting in an abandoned building with a group of stoners, whereas they were a happily married couple, able to provide the child with a loving and stable upbringing. Who did she think the judge would choose?’ the bitch added, before telling her to think about it very carefully and call her when she’d decided how she wanted to proceed.

Then it dawned on her, the man she’d fallen so completely and utterly in love with didn’t exist. He’d been nothing more than a character, a figment of someone’s imagination. Peter Cook, the big rockstar, had been playing a part, and judging by how convincingly he’d performed, it was a role he’d played many times before.

How could she have been so naïve, so gullible, as to believe his lies? Lies that had fallen so easily from the same lips that had promised her the world.

Lies that had sucked her in, chewed her up and spat her out, leaving her heart and soul as broken as the promises he’d made. Promises of a tomorrow that would never be hers.

Hours turned into days, the days into weeks and eventually, the tears stopped coming and she knew what she had to do.

No one was going to raise her baby but her. Peter Cook could go fuck himself.

Evie watched the group walk across the courtyard from the kitchen window as she loaded the dishwasher. Gaz appeared to hold court, gesticulating wildly, while the others roared with laughter at his story. Then, to her horror, Peter took centre stage and there was a lot of back-slapping and laughter. Slamming the door of the dishwasher shut with her foot, she wished Peter as far away from there as possible. Not that she meant him any harm – well, not much – but everything had been so much better before he’d come into their lives.

What was he trying to do? Make up for all those years he’d missed out on? She pressed furiously on the spray bottle trigger, covering the countertop in pink foam. Well, he couldn’t. That ship had sailed. She scrubbed at the foam with a cloth. He’d never be able to get that time back, and he had no one to blame but himself. She kept scrubbing. What happened when he got fed up with playing daddy? What then? Would he crawl back under the stone he’d been living under for most of his son’s life? Well, let’s hope he loses interest sooner rather than later.

“Morning, babe.” Matt padded into the kitchen and across to the fridge. “Any breakfast going?” He stretched lazily, exposing his taut abdomen beneath his t-shirt.

“No,” she snapped, trying to stop the foam overspill dripping down the front of the kitchen cupboards.

“Someone got out of the wrong side of the bed this morning,” he said, unscrewing the lid on some disgusting green gunge he drank every morning.

Evie heaved at the smell. “I don’t know how you can drink that shit.” She screwed up her face and pursed her lips. “It smells like rotting fish.”

“It’s good for you.” He took a swig. “You should try it.”

“No, thanks.” She scowled as she coated the tabletop in pink foam. “If it looks like shit and smells like shit, then trust me, it’s shit.”

“Wow, someone’s cranky,” he said, taking another swig from the bottle. “Evie, babe.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “You need to chill out.”

Evie ignored him, wondering why she’d ever got involved with him in the first place. He wasn’t that much older than Jaxon. Oh yeah, she remembered the day she’d first laid eyes on him. It had been a stiflingly hot, lazy kind of day with very little air around, and she’d felt restless all day, waiting for the promised storm to break and clear the air. Then Matt arrived for his interview, his tight arse squeezed into a pair of very snug cycling shorts that left nothing to the imagination, and she knew exactly what she needed to relieve the pressure.

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