Chapter 38
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Jules
A four-wheel drive narrowly misses scraping the side of my car as I manoeuvre into a park outside the school. I give them a good look at my middle finger out the window and blast the horn. Arsehole.
If Riley was with me, she’d be telling me off for the ‘rude gesture’ and reminding me that Daddy wouldn’t approve. Daddy can bite my arse. Which, to be fair, he did over the weekend. And it was far from unpleasant. Although, there was a softer side to our lovemaking that left me feeling exposed. And more loved than ever.
I rub my temples to ease the pounding. The headache I woke up with, one that heralds a period approaching, isn’t helping my mood. Nor did my shift at the café today. It never ceases to amaze me how rude some customers are to staff. Throw in my attempts to abstain, and I’m teetering on the edge. It’s been a week since I touched a drink and over two weeks since I had a Valium. Stopping is turning out to be a little more challenging than I anticipated.
Taylor lounges in her usual spot outside the school gates, boobs on display. We’ve done a stellar job of ignoring each other since the infamous nightclub incident, with only the occasional barbed insult tossed like hand grenades at each other, leaving our kids none the wiser.
Mr Campbell strolls through the gate, Riley by his side. Taylor perks up, but Mr Campbell’s attention remains firmly on me. Uh oh. What’s Riley done now?
Shane clutches Taylor’s hand, giving her no excuse to linger. She flashes me with a ‘crawl away and die’ expression. I lift my chin and turn my back on her.
“Hey Riley, how was school?”
She runs to my side. “I got a boo-boo.”
My heart ratchets up a notch. What? I squat and scan her body for any signs of injury but find nothing.
“She’s not hurt, Mrs Williams. She just had a fright.”
“Oh.” I peck Riley on the cheek. “Are you okay now?”
“Yeah. Mr Campbell let me work on a jigsaw.” She spreads her hands wide. “It was huge.”
“That’s awesome.” A couple of girls wave at us from behind the fence. “Would you like to play for a bit before we go home?”
“Sure.” Riley runs back into the school grounds.
I wipe my palms on my jeans. “What happened?”
“A boy blew up a balloon and burst it behind her.”
A squeal from the children draws my attention. They’re all smiles as they play tag. “I can understand it scaring her for a moment, but why did she call it a boo-boo?”
“She said it hurt her ears. I suspect she used it as an excuse to get out of reading aloud.”
I laugh, but Mr Campbell’s no-nonsense expression has me shuffling my feet and feeling like I should stand in the naughty corner. “Sorry. She doesn’t like to read.”
“No, she doesn’t. I have a theory about that.”
“You do?”
He nods. “She becomes easily distracted when asked to read out loud. I don’t know why I didn’t make the connection earlier. You’d need to get some testing done to be sure, but I think she might be near-sighted.”
“She’s not …” My first instinct is to go on the attack, but could he be onto something? Now that I think about it, Riley’s happy to have bedtime stories read to her, but I never see her with a book in her hand. She prefers the jigsaw puzzle or drawing over reading.
How could I not have realised this?
“I’m the worst mother.”
Mr Campbell breaks into a Hollywood-worthy smile that’s disarming and transforms him from serious teacher to the sexy man the other mothers are always fawning over. “Take it easy on yourself, Mrs Williams. I feel the same way. But short of seeing an optometrist, it’s tricky to diagnose. And Riley’s become adept at avoiding anything that hurts her eyes too much, either through her behaviour or deflecting her energies into activities that don’t require the same level of concentration. Even if she’s not good at them.”
He means her art. Zola could draw better pictures than Riley. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. That’s what I’m here for. But it’s only a theory. You’ll need to get it confirmed.”
“I will. If it is her sight, then maybe she’ll start reading more and drawing less if she has glasses.”
He chuckles. “Her artwork is most enlightening. Did you end up dressing as a cat woman for Halloween?”
Oh, gawd. Swallow me now, dear Earth.
Mr Campbell hangs his head and shoves his hands into his pockets. “I’m sorry. That was highly inappropriate.”
“That’s okay. And no, I convinced Riley that we should both dress as witches.” A loud sigh escapes my lips. “It’s tough keeping things from kids.”
“It sure is.”
I glance at his bare ring finger. “You have children?”
“Why should that surprise you?” He raises his hand. “ Scratch that. I’ve been on the receiving end of enough indecent proposals to appreciate most mothers here think I’m single and available.”
“You’re an attractive man.”
“Yeah. And a married one. My partner and I don’t believe in rings. He unbuttons the cuff of his long sleeve shirt and rolls it up. There’s a heart on his forearm and the name Jacob underneath.
“You have matching tattoos?” I rub the infinity symbol on my wrist. “That’s so lovely.”
“We do. We vowed forever, and we take those vows seriously.” Mr Campbell traces the ink on his arm with his finger, his expression soft and loving. It’s the same look that was on Mick’s face when he brought me breakfast in bed on the weekend.
I hide the swell of emotion behind humour, like I always do, and wink. “Well, don’t spoil the fantasy for all the other mums.”
“I’ve tried with some of the pushier ladies.” He refastens his sleeve button. “But they won’t believe me.”
I laugh. That’s because it’s not what they want to see. Mr Campbell is a fine specimen of manhood, a welcome distraction for mothers who feel neglected. And yet, the urge to flirt with him has never hit me. While Mick drives me crazy with his quiet ways, he’s also incredibly patient and caring. He’s the yang to my yin. I can’t imagine life with anyone else.
The conversation with Mr Campbell churns over in my brain as I drive to the nearby shopping centre. Luck is on my side and within half an hour, we’ve seen an optometrist who proves the short-sighted theory.
I hand a pair of silver-framed glasses to Riley. “What about these? ”
She shakes her head so hard that hair flies in all directions, her ponytail long discarded. “They’re ugly.”
The assistant gives me a reassuring smile. How she stays calm and unruffled is beyond me. The shop has filled with customers and yet she continues to give us her undivided attention, despite Riley rejecting every pair of glasses she’s been shown. The first ones were too heavy, the second ones hurt her ears, and the third ones were too blue.
Of course. Why didn’t I think of this before? I turn to the assistant. “Do you have anything in red that would fit her?”
“No, sorry.”
Damn. That would have been perfect.
She raises her finger. “Hold on. I might have something.” She hurries over to the reception area.
“Can we go home, Mummy?”
“Soon, sweetie. We need to get you some glasses.”
Her bottom lip drops. “I don’t want them.”
Her defeated tone is like a knife to my heart. She hasn’t said it, but it’s clear she’s worried about being picked on by the other kids. Even telling her Daddy wears them to read does nothing to lift her spirits.
The assistant returns with a fire engine red pair of glasses with sparkling diamantes. “These were put aside for a customer, but they never came back.”
Riley jumps to her feet and extends her hands. Bingo!
For the next ten minutes, she preens in front of the mirror. It then takes another ten minutes to convince Riley she can’t take them home because the lenses need to be fitted.
As a treat, we head for McDonald’s. I call Claire and see if she’s free to meet us there. Like the perfect bestie she is, she asks if she needs to bring a shovel because of the short notice. I laugh and say, “Not this time.”
I arrive at the restaurant first and sip a latte while checking emails on my phone. Riley tucks into a massive chocolate sundae that I’m going to regret later when she’s bouncing off the walls, furniture, and anything else that’s not tied down. But she deserves it. And yeah, I might have a little case of the guilts for not picking up on her sight problem earlier.
My heart races when I see a reply from the museum to my application for a volunteer guide role. Two months have passed since I applied. I’d almost given up.
I open the email and my heartbeat stalls.
‘Thanks, but no thanks.’
What the fuck?
They may not be the exact words, but it’s what they mean. There’s some other garbage about being inundated with applications; your credentials are impressive; we’ll keep you on our waitlist and let you know if anything comes up in the future. Blah, blah, blah. I thought my archaeology degree would give me an advantage. It never occurred to me they’d say no. My headache intensifies, starting up a steady pounding behind my eyes.
Riley gobbles up the last of her sundae, then buries her head in a drawing. Her face is closer to the paper than it should be. How could I have been so blind?
Claire breezes in looking all sunshine and unicorns, Oscar’s small hand clasped in hers. For the first time in our friendship, I resent her contentment. How dare she be happy when my hopes of jump-starting my career lie scattered across the floor. I know I’m overreacting, but I can’t stop myself. It’s like I’ve had one too many rejections and a self-destruct sequence has initiated. This is what happens when I don’t take something to relax. There’s nothing to shield me from myself.
Claire’s smile wavers as she catches the super-sized frown on mine. She kisses Riley on the cheek and lowers herself into the seat next to me. Oscar scoots alongside Riley. She shoves a piece of paper and two crayons at him. “Do you want to draw? ”
“Sure.” Oscar presses his hand over the page and picks up a crayon.
“What’s going on?” Claire’s concerned gaze roams my face. “Is everything okay at home?”
It’s code for ‘has Mick fucked up again?’ because we’ve learnt from bitter experience how sharp little ears can be.
“Yeah. Everything’s fine. I just heard from the museum. That’s all. They don’t want me.” I whisper the last words despite the desire to throw myself on the floor and scream.
“I’m sorry.” Claire’s hand covers mine. “There’ll be other opportunities.”
Not like this one. I’d been on a high after the exhibition, imagining myself showing visitors through the gallery. Immersing myself in history again. If I can’t get a volunteer role, what chance have I got of getting a paying job or the master’s degree I applied for?
Zero.
Zilch.
Fuck all!
Because knowing my luck, the university will decide I graduated too long ago and I’m not worth their time. I clench my hands so tightly in my lap that it’s a miracle the bones don’t snap. “It’s okay.”
It’s not, but I don’t want Claire worrying about me.
We sit in silence, watching the kids with their drawings. For once, my best friend has nothing to say, while I’m counting down the minutes until we can leave. Oscar must have used every single crayon in the box to turn the Nile into a kaleidoscope. Riley’s chosen red for the people—no surprises there—but she’s added green grass and blue sky. At least one of us is evolving.
My phone beeps.
Mick: Running late. Won’t be home till around eight xx.
Claire peers at the message. “Would you girls like to come to our place for dinner? ”
It’s tempting, but I’m not up for conversation. Not even with my bestie. “Nah. But maybe Riley could go with you, and I’ll pick her up later?”
Claire gives me a classic Mum look. “I don’t think you should be alone right now.”
“I’ll hit the gym and sweat it out on the treadmill. Or a bike.”
“You?” Claire’s jaw drops.
My hands slide to my hips. “Excuse me, but I took up membership last month.”
Claire’s brows pinch together, and her lips twitch as if she thinks I’m full of crap. She’s not completely wrong. “I thought you were joking. How’s that going for you?”
I pat my not-so-flat stomach. “I go every other week.”
Claire laughs. “As in once or never?”
I slap her hand playfully, disappointment slipping into the shadows. I don’t need that job. It’s their loss. Or so I keep telling myself. “I’ve been twice.” And both times it hurt like a motherfucker, and I swore I’d never go back.
“How about Riley sleeps over? Then you could get exercise of a different kind later.” She wiggles her eyebrows. “The best kind.”
Riley’s head pops up. “Yay. That would be awesome.”
What did I say about little ears?
Mick and I alone, with no obligation to keep quiet. Yes, please! Kinky sex is precisely what I need to climb out of this funk.
“You know what? That’d be great. You’re the greatest.” I hug Claire and start cataloguing my lingerie. Something that will have my sexy husband ruining his pants.
We return to the house, and I pack a small bag for Riley. I wave her goodbye, Zola straining at the lead, wanting to go too. My stomach sinks as the front door closes. Zola smothers me in kisses, but it’s not enough to ease the pain.
I wander into the living room. The walls close in, and the rejection letter flashes before my eyes. Who am I kidding? I’m not going to the gym.
I whip out my phone. Claire’s right. I shouldn’t be alone. My trembling finger hovers over her number, but I don’t call. Riley was so excited to have a sleepover. If I crash it, I’ll end up drinking too much wine and sobbing on my bestie’s shoulder.
I open the email. Read the rejection letter. Again.
Blood pumps so hard through my body that I fear an artery will burst.
Why am I torturing myself? I throw the mobile at the couch. It lands with a satisfying thud.
What now?
Perhaps Mick can come home early. I retrieve my phone and pull up his number. The phone rings and rings and rings. Fucking hell! Where is he?
Me: Can you call? I need you.
There’s no reply. No sign he’s read it. Dammit!
I pace the living room to try and divert my thoughts away from the silky smooth perfection of red wine sliding down my throat or the blissed out ‘don’t give a fuck’ tranquillity that comes from popping a pill.
There’ll be other opportunities.
This is not a reflection on me.
It’s not the end of the world.
All lies. I kick the couch. “Fuck.” I hop on one foot. That hurt.
Zola barks and bounces around me like she thinks it’s a game. It’s not.
I flop onto the lounge, tears sliding down my cheeks. Zola leaps on top of me and licks my face .
“Stop.” I push her off, but she keeps licking. “No, girl.” I wriggle away from her and collapse to the floor.
I can’t do this alone. If ever there was a time for Mum’s Valium, it’s now.
I stumble into the bedroom and rummage through the boxes at the top of my cupboard. The diary is there. And so are the tablets hidden inside. My hands shake as I open the plastic bag. Just one pill. Then no more. I promise.
A crazy woman with wild brown, desperate eyes and messy hair stares at me in the reflection of the wardrobe mirror. My mouth opens, but nothing comes out. Not even air.
Is this who I’ve become?
No.
I shove the bag into the diary, slip it into its hiding place and rest my forehead against the wardrobe door. My heart bounces around in my rib cage like a ping-pong ball and sweat beads on my brow. I don’t need a psychologist to recognise I’m suffering from a combination of panic and withdrawal symptoms. But I’m stronger than this. I can get through the disappointment without pills. Or alcohol.
I open the drawer and yank out a pair of tights and a T-shirt. I told Claire I’d go to the gym, and that’s exactly what I’ll do.