Page 9 of Fool Me Twice

Peter rested his elbows on his thighs and rubbed his hands over his face, trying to get the blood flowing to his brain. He took a deep breath, then felt rather than saw his way to the bathroom. Putting on his glasses, he studied himself in the mirror. He gripped the sides of the basin, wondering when he’d got so old-looking. When had the little crinkles at the outer corners of his eyes become so deep, the faint lines across his forehead more pronounced, his lips turned down at the corners, and his eyes? Where had the light gone?

Ever since he was a kid, people had remarked on the twinkle in his eyes, but now all he saw looking back at him was his father. George Cook had worn that same haunted look like an enormous overcoat in the months following his wife’s death, and within six months he’d joined her.

Peter shook his head to erase the images, refusing to accept what was literally staring him in the face. His father had been almost sixty when Peter’s mother passed, and it had broken him. Peter got it. He’d been there. But he was only forty-eight and, according to his last physical, had a lot of mileage left on the old clock if he continued taking care of himself.

Physically, he was in great shape, but the last few years had taken their toll on his mental health. He’d felt like the biggest failure to walk the face of the earth, as a father, as a husband and as a human being. He knew what a disappointment he’d been to Shari. Marriage to him hadn’t been the party she’d envisaged, and she’d never tired of telling him what a let-down it had all been for her.

Evie hadn’t needed to say anything. Her face always mirrored whatever was going on inside, and all he saw when she looked at him was the anger and betrayal she still carried with her.

But no matter how harshly anyone judged him, no one was harder on him than himself. He wasn’t proud of leaving Evie high and dry and going back to his wife, but when Cathy had told him about the swelling the doctor had found on her cervix after that abnormal pap smear, he just couldn’t let her face that journey alone. Not after everything they’d been through together. Rightly or wrongly, he’d made a choice. There was no point dwelling on “if only” scenarios. He’d done what he’d thought was right at the time. Right for who? That was the million-dollar question.

“Hey, slowpoke,” Jaxon called. “Aren’t you ready yet?”

“Coming.” He removed his glasses before cupping his hands beneath the running water and splashing it onto his face.

“Don’t tell me,” Jaxon said as his father walked down the stairs. “You couldn’t do a thing with your hair.” He shook his golden mane and mimicked Anya’s famous hair flick from her shampoo adverts.

“Ha bloody ha.”

“Maybe I should book you in for a wax and polish at Dino’s Valeting on the high street?” Jaxon teased as he waited for his father to step outside, before switching on the alarm system and pulling the front door shut behind them.

“You may laugh,” Peter warned good-naturedly, staring at the old red two-seater convertible in the drive. Where was Jaxon going to put all his surfing gear, let alone the board? “But I used to have hair like you when I was your age, so I wouldn’t be so cocky if I were you.”

Jaxon grinned as he jumped into the car. Flipping down the visor, he watched himself in the vanity mirror as he fisted his hair and secured it with an elastic. “Yeah, yeah, as if you were ever as good-looking as me.”

“No, I was better. Just ask your—“ Peter stopped himself. It was probably better he didn’t finish that sentence. “Anyway, aren’t you forgetting something?” he asked as he lowered himself into the front passenger seat.

Jaxon frowned. “Nah, don’t think so.” The car failed to start on the first turn of the key.

“Your surfboard?”

“I don’t keep it here. It’s in the lock-up at the beach.” He turned the key again and pressed the accelerator lightly with his foot, smiling as the little car roared to life.

It was shaping up to be a glorious day, the near cloudless sky a vibrant shade of blue, with just the faintest whisper of a breeze. Peter relaxed back into the soft leather seat, relishing the warmth of the early morning sun on his face as they drove along the coastal road toward the beach. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with the fresh, salty air.

“So, these friends you’re meeting up with, are they local guys?”

“Yeah, just some guys I went to school with.”

Peter nodded, glad Jaxon hadn’t forgotten where he’d come from and that his feet were still firmly on the ground. Or sand was probably more the case, from what he’d gathered about his son. “And they all still live around here?”

“Most of them, except Gaz. He’s one of those hedge fund bigwigs in the city. I don’t know how, though.” He threw his head back and laughed. “He was thick as two short planks in school. Maybe it had something to do with him knobbing the boss’s daughter.”

Knobbing the boss’s daughter? Seriously?

“Hey.” Peter’s head spun around as they turned off the main road and down a side lane. “I think you took a wrong turn, mate. Isn’t the beach that way?”

Jaxon snorted. “If you’re a tourist.” He stopped at the junction, looking both ways before turning right.

Peter could feel his stomach churning. “But doesn’t this road take you to—“

“Mum’s house.” Jaxon nodded. “Yeah, this is where we all meet up. Didn’t I mention it?”

“Er, no.” Peter could feel that familiar tight ball growing near his diaphragm as they neared Evie’s house.

“Yeah, Mum makes us one of her famous fry-ups, then we hit the beach.”

“I thought we were just going to the beach. If I’d known we were coming... here.” He swallowed. “Then I wouldn’t have come.”

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