Chapter Thirteen
It’s Monday afternoon and I’m sitting at one of my picnic tables.
The local paper is spread out in front of me and I’m circling any jobs I think I could apply for.
There’s nothing exciting, unless you count working in the local shoe shop, vape store or bookie’s, and none of them appeal.
I circle them anyway. Beggars can’t be choosers and at least those options won’t involve me getting on a bus to the nearest town, which is an added expense I can do without.
My phone dings. It’s Reeni. Without opening the message, I can see it’s the details about the pizza night she mentioned. We haven’t spoken since that awkward afternoon and I don’t feel like answering her. I’ll open it later. I push the phone to one side and go back to studying the jobs page.
‘Hello, stranger.’ Jackson’s voice whips through me, knocking my insides all out of kilter.
I look up and he’s in front of me, all sun-kissed, wearing an easy smile along with long navy shorts and a baby-blue T-shirt. Looking that good should come with a health warning. He’s too bloody sexy.
‘You OK?’ I ask, trying to keep my voice natural.
‘I needed a break from bloody paperwork. It’s driving me mad. Councils are a nightmare. I thought I’d get some fresh air and maybe a decent conversation.’
He leans his hip against the edge of the table. He’s so effortlessly confident, like the beach, the sunshine and even my table somehow suit him. My fingers tighten around my pen. Why does he still do this to me, when he’s actually doing nothing? Crap. Get a grip, woman.
‘What do you need the council to do?’
He waves his hand, dismissing my question. ‘Just permits. It’ll get sorted. So, what’re you up to?’
‘Job hunting.’
‘Anything interesting?’ He leans over my shoulder to look.
I cringe at the jobs I’ve circled. ‘Not really. But a job’s a job and I need the money.’
He slides onto the bench beside me, leaving just enough space between us to be polite, but close enough that I can feel his warmth. He’s quiet as he scans the paper. ‘What do you want to do?’
‘Don’t really know, but I need to pay my rent.’
‘Any of them will be perfect then.’
His response is the opposite of the one I’ve been gearing myself up to hear from Dad.
‘How so?’ I say, frowning.
He glances at me, then says gently, ‘Ellie, you’d be great at any of these. You’re a people person.’
I snort. ‘Me?’
He looks at me like I’ve just said the sky isn’t blue. ‘Of course, you. Don’t let what happened with the café drag you down. You’ve got something that makes people feel seen. Heard. You’d be a total asset to any of these jobs.’
I’m staring at the various job titles when his fingers curl around my wrist, his touch squeezing the air from my lungs.
‘Take the job that gives you space to breathe,’ he says softly. ‘Then figure out what really lights you up. Something creative, if I know you.’
He’s let go of my wrist now, but the feel of his fingers is imprinted on my skin.
‘We should talk.’ The words spill out of my mouth before I can stop them.
He’s watching me closely and I have to concentrate to breathe. The thought of baring my soul is terrifying, but strangely, the thought of leaving stuff unsaid is worse.
‘So much happened back then and we never did talk it through.’ By we, I mean me, seeing as I was the one who ran.
‘We probably should. You don’t have to do it this minute if you’re not ready.’
He’s giving me a get-out clause, but deep down I know Reeni is right. It is something I have to do. I shift on the bench, my seat bones pressing into the wood uncomfortably.
‘What happened …’ I begin and then stop. I’ve rehearsed this speech so many times in my head, but now I’m here, I’m not sure exactly what to say.
Not for the first time he fiddles with the ring on his left hand.
‘It was hard for everyone. You don’t have anything to feel bad about.’ His voice is low and hoarse.
‘I do though.’ I begin to pick at the skin around my thumb. ‘I’m sorry I wouldn’t talk to you after …’ I swallow. No matter how many times this has reverberated around my head, I’ve never said it out loud.
Ever.
‘… after our baby died.’ My breath catches in the back of my throat, but I force myself to keep going.
‘I’m sorry I hid behind Mum and Reeni and kept you away.
’ The words are tumbling over themselves now.
I keep my eyes trained on the deep blue sea horizon line, hating how vulnerable I feel, and as if he knows he shifts a fraction, bringing his whole body closer as we sit side by side.
‘You were hurting too and I acted like I was the only one who’d lost anything. ’
He’s twisted on the bench to face me, but I can’t feel any animosity, which I’m so thankful for.
‘I didn’t know what to do,’ he says, running his fingers through his hair and pushing it clear of his eyes so he can look at me.
‘I didn’t understand. Mum talked to me and tried to explain, but I was lost. I kept giving you space, thinking that’s what you needed.
But it never felt like enough. And I didn’t want to make it worse. ’
I swallow, but my mouth is like sandpaper. ‘I couldn’t talk to anyone, and I felt so guilty …’
He cuts across my words. ‘You never had anything to feel guilty for.’
That stops me in my tracks. This is it. He’s given me a gold-plated opportunity to tell him the truth. Explain what really happened, the choice I made, about the guilt which plagues me and hope he’ll understand. Hope it won’t drive him away.
‘None of what happened was your fault,’ he continues and just like that, the window to confess is slammed shut.
His hand drifts to the table, resting close to mine but not touching. The invitation’s there even if it’s unspoken and the urge to touch him is nearly overwhelming. I want to move my hand the millimetres it would take for our fingers to touch, but I’m frozen.
‘You did everything right. I did everything wrong,’ I say, my stomach churning. I’m willing him to understand. To let me know I haven’t ruined anything, and I ignore the tiny squirm of conscience which is burrowing away in the corner of my brain, telling me I haven’t been completely honest.
He shakes his head gently. ‘There was no right or wrong, Ellie. We were grieving. Both of us.’
His face relaxes into a smile and relief floods through me.
I haven’t ruined our friendship. He’s not going to run away from me.
His forgiveness is quiet and unconditional and feels like sunlight warming a frozen corner of my soul.
I’m about to reach for his hand when the familiar sound of a car drives past on the road, slowing down to pull into the front of The Beach House, and the moment we’re sitting in shatters.
‘That’s Greg.’ My tone is urgent and I edge along the bench a tiny bit away from Jackson.
He tilts one eyebrow at me. ‘The boyfriend who isn’t a boyfriend?’
I don’t answer because even I haven’t got a clue where I stand right now. And more to the point where I want to stand.
‘Can you, I mean, is it OK if …’ I bite my lip, my insides churning.
He frowns, confused at the wall that’s shot up between us. ‘You want me to go?’
‘If he finds you here, he won’t like it.’ I screw my eyes shut. I’ve upset Greg so much lately and he doesn’t deserve it and in turn, it makes me feel dreadful. ‘It’s complicated.’
‘Do you let him dictate all your friends?’ Jackson’s voice crackles across the space between us.
‘No, it’s not like that. Please.’ My eyes are skimming across his face, begging him to understand.
He nods and stands calmly, but his face flickers with something. Disappointment? Frustration? I’m not sure.
‘I’ll be at the camper all afternoon. Mum and I have an idea for how you could use the café. That’s why I came over.’
‘I’ll call over later.’ I stand, hoping he takes the hint. ‘Promise. Go now, please.’
‘I’m going.’ He reaches out and squeezes my forearm. ‘If you need me, call. And bring your camera later.’ And then he’s gone, his long loping strides taking him down onto the beach and out of sight right as Greg walks around the corner of the building.
‘Hi, Ellie,’ calls out Greg.
He’s gone back to his boring navy tie and neatly brushed un-gelled hair, which I have to say suits him way better.
I wait for goosebumps to race down my spine or even a warm feeling to flood my insides, but none of that happens.
I sit back down on the bench with a thud, pulling the local newspaper over the table towards me.
‘How’s it going?’
‘Looking at jobs,’ I say, waving my hand at the open page. This morning I’d been depressed at the available local employment, but after talking to Jackson I feel more hopeful about it all. I have a plan and that feels good.
Greg leans over and tuts. ‘You can do better than these,’ he says with a dismissive glance. ‘You need something with prospects. A real career you’ll be proud of.’
I cringe inside. He sounds like Dad and I’m not sure that’s a good thing.
‘I know exactly the type of thing you can apply for.’ With a flourish, he pulls several A4 papers out from the inside pocket of his suit jacket and makes a big deal of laying them in front of me. ‘These are right up your street and way more suitable.’
Suitable for who? I flick through the printed pages.
They are all office-based jobs, secretary, PA, office administrator – whatever that means.
All lovely jobs I’m sure, but I’d be bored out of my brains stuck in an office doing the same thing day in, day out.
I sigh. It wasn’t supposed to be out loud, but obviously is, as Greg takes affront.
I flick to the last page, determined to be more positive.
After all he has gone out of his way to try to help me.
The final job is a receptionist gig at Phoenix Consulting.
‘Isn’t this where you work?’