Betrothed (2 page)

A bunch of questions tumbled in my head but I couldn’t find my voice. I wanted to run to him, close the gap and throw my arms around him. I wanted to capture his hands in mine and bring them to my lips, cover them with kisses. Overwhelmed with the intensity of my feelings, I had to remind myself to breathe.

After a long moment of staring I managed to speak. I was startled when I heard the words leave my mouth. I was speaking his language. ‘Who are you?’ I asked.

‘I am Leif,’ he said, inclining his head. ‘I am yours.’ Then he looked up and smiled again, a sunburst on an already perfect day. ‘But you know this, Marla.’

He was mine. I did know it. I opened my mouth, but even if I could have found a word, I wouldn’t have been able to speak it, because I was waking and moaning and a whole different set of sensations and sounds were assaulting me: pain—my face felt like it had been stung by a swarm of bees; and crying—my own, my mother’s; and whispering.

‘Look, she’s waking. She’s going to be fine.’ I recognised the voice of my doctor.

‘Thank God,’ my father said, as always, calm and strong.

‘She’s a very lucky girl. Lucky her friend knew what to do.’

My friend—Jack.

Memories were returning—shopping, the make-up department, Jack and Hilary clutching my arms, trying to put a stop to my stupidity. Me assuring them I’d be okay, that I needed to test my allergies now and then. Jack holding up freshly painted fingernails: ‘Midnight Riot, do you like?’ Strawberry lip gloss scorching my lips, shimmery pink eye shadow setting fire to my eyes, the contents of my bag scattered on the floor, pain licking at my face. Hilary pressing my puffer to my lips. Terror as my throat sealed closed. And finally relief when Jack found my EpiPen and stabbed it into my thigh as I slipped into unconsciousness.

I opened my eyes. I was in hospital and my parents and doctor hovered around my bed. My attention settled on my mother. The tears in her eyes were rapidly turning to ice and I just managed to catch a glimpse of softness in her expression before it too vanished.

‘What happened?’ I asked, my voice a cross between a whisper and a croak.

‘What do you think happened, Amy? What do you think is bound to happen when you plaster your face with make-up? Stupid, stupid . . . ’ My mother’s fists were clenched at her sides.

‘Karen, come on now,’ my father soothed.

‘She might have died, Lewis!’ Mum’s eyebrows were drawn so close they almost crashed.

‘I know, love, but I think our girl might just get the message without that carry on.’ Dad reached out to stroke her arm and Mum clamped her lips shut.

‘I didn’t plaster my face. It was only a little bit.’ Self-pity meshed with pain causing tears to well in my eyes. My mother huffed but otherwise stayed silent as, arms crossed and face pinched, she stared in the direction of the window.

‘Amy, I know it’s tough for you, but you just can’t take risks like that,’ my father told me. He placed a big hand carefully on my face. It felt cool against the flames.

‘It’s not fair.’ I sounded seven instead of seventeen, but I didn’t care, I was just so fed up with being allergic to the whole world.

My father sighed and wiped a tear from my temple before leaning in to hug me.

I was grateful he didn’t continue. That was one of the great things about Dad—he knew when to shut up. He just held me carefully for a moment then dropped a kiss on my forehead.

‘How long have I been here?’ I asked.

‘Since yesterday afternoon.’

‘I’m starving.’

My father looked at my mother, who in turn looked at the doctor. ‘Is it all right if she has something to eat?’ she asked.

‘Of course, she’ll be fine now, just a matter of time for the swelling to go down.’ The doctor smiled and turned back to me before adding, ‘It really is a miracle how quickly you heal, Amy. Anyone else would be knocked out for weeks.’

Anyone else wouldn’t almost die just from trying on a little lipgloss
. I frowned but kept my mouth closed. I’d learned years ago that the only thing to be gained from whinging about my condition was a headache and a bad mood.

My mother picked up a small cooler bag from the floor and cast me another frosty look. ‘What will it be?’

‘What have you got?’

‘Everything.’

I sighed. ‘Rice custard I suppose.’

Mum handed me a plastic container and I filled my stomach with zero pleasure.

After a few hours’ observation I was released, largely thanks to the ‘free up the hospital beds asap’ policy. When I got home I ate more rice, this time with stewed apples and a big drink of milk, then went to bed.

I was just drifting off when the phone roused me. I heard my sister answer and a moment later—in that little sweetie-pie voice she saved for cute boys—add, ‘Oh, Jack, hi.’

I could almost hear Ashleigh’s eyelashes flutter. Totally pointless—Jack liked to play along, but he wasn’t interested. Not that I could blame her for trying. My friend was lovely, with his big milk-chocolate eyes and floppy honey-blond hair. He must have asked her to check on me because the next thing I knew she was at the bedroom door.

‘Oh, you are awake.’

‘In a dead kind of way,’ I replied as I forced myself out of bed. But her amber curls were already bouncing out the door.

‘Jack’s on the phone,’ she called back from the hallway.

I slid into the computer chair and picked up the phone, could hear the worry in Jack’s voice when he asked how I was. I ran a finger from my temple to my chin. ‘My face is throbbing,’ I told him. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever been
this
swollen before.’

‘Well, we tried to stop you.’

I recalled Hilary and Jack tugging on my arm as I marched off to the make-up department. Convincing either of my friends to come shopping with me again was going to be a nightmare. ‘I know,’ I said and hurried on before he could slip a lecture in, ‘but, Jack, something amazing happened while I was in hospital.’

‘You realise you could have died, don’t you?’

‘Sorry . . . ’

‘Why did you do it?’

‘I don’t know . . . I just feel so . . . frustrated all the time—and tired. It’s that dream. Every time I have it I wake up more exhausted than when I went to bed.’

‘Weren’t you going to speak to your doctor about that?’

‘Didn’t think to—But, Jack, when I was in hospital, I met Leif.’

‘What?’

‘I was having that dream again but this time the darkness cleared, just like mist or fog or something and I was standing in this forest and
he
appeared. I was falling asleep when you called actually—hoping to meet up with him again. You ruined our reunion.’

‘Ungrateful wench, that’s the thanks I get for caring.’ Jack sounded wounded in a fake kind of way.

I laughed. ‘Sorry, Jack . . .
but I met Leif
!’ I wanted to reach through the phone and shake him.

‘Go on then, tell me all about it.’

‘
I’m
the Marla he’s been searching for!’

‘Ah, so you’re the mystery girl.’

‘He says he’s mine.’

‘The guy’s a figment of your imagination, I wouldn’t get too excited.’ I could picture Jack sprawled on his bed, rolling his eyes.

‘I know, but it
so
doesn’t feel like it. And the name suits me don’t you think? Marla.’ I said the word slowly, lingering on each syllable.

‘Marla,’ he said, trying it out. ‘Actually, it does suit you. I like it.’

‘Jack, he was the most gorgeous guy ever.’ The memory of those captivating dark eyes and lovely big hands reaching out to me took me away for a little bit.

‘Excluding me of course.’ The outrage in my friend’s voice soon brought me back.

‘Obviously you’re the exception,’ I chuckled.

‘Anyway, he’s only in your mind. You need a real man—someone like me.’

‘Ha, like you’re interested! You’d die if I actually took you up on it.’

‘Is that what you think?’ His voice had gone all quiet and confusing. Heat trickled into my cheeks as I struggled to know how to answer him.

‘We’ve already been there, remember?’ I said finally. When Jack and I met in high school the attraction had been instant. Not a physical thing, but like when you meet someone and you just
get
each other. But because one of you is a boy and the other is a girl it becomes all complicated. We went out for a little while in year 7. I smiled at the memory—all that holding hands and cuddling behind A block where the rock wall blocks the view to the road. And that single kiss . . . I sometimes wondered if it would have gone anywhere if mum hadn’t found out and put a stop to it.

‘Sure, but we were kids then. You’re hot, I’m hot, together we’d burn.’ His deliberately smouldery voice pulled me from my memories. I’d be lying if I said the thought hadn’t occurred to me—Jack Connelly was just so . . . appealing. But he was the best friend I’d ever had. How could I gamble that on a romance? What if I lost him? Besides, it’s not like he was actually serious.

‘Are you having fun teasing me, Jack?’

‘Tease you, as if I would.’ He laughed on the other end of the phone and that little bit of tension evaporated. ‘Anyway I
should go and let you get back to bed. I’ll take you to the beach tomorrow if you’re well enough.’

I felt better at the thought of that. There was nothing I loved more than soaking up the rays.

‘See you in the morning then, Marla, and good luck in your dreams tonight, hope you get lucky.’

‘I
love
the sound of that, Jack.’

‘Which bit?’

‘I meant the name but the other bit sounds good too.’ I smiled as I said it and heard Jack laughing on the other end of the phone.

After I hung up, my thoughts drifted back to my dream. It was strange, the memory was as real as the conversation I’d just had with Jack. I recalled Leif so completely—that wide beautiful smile, those penetrating eyes, that hot six-pack. I was giving myself goose bumps. Why didn’t real guys come in such impressive packages?

Apart from that summer with Jack, I’d never had a boyfriend. And despite Jack’s assurances that I was more than pretty and only needed to work on my confidence to really shine, there was no queue of guys waiting to ask me out. Actually there was one paying attention lately: Jason Mathews. But after my dream guy, well, it would be hard to settle for less.

Sighing, I got up from my seat. My face felt like it had its own heartbeat. I went to the bathroom and looked into the mirror to apply my cream. Ugh! I looked horrible. My eyes were nothing but pink marshmallows and my nose more button mushroom than the cute as a button kind mum always said it was. As for my lips, they were naturally full, but these horrors looked like they belonged on a goldfish. What a mess!

This was going to take some serious healing time and I had no one to blame but myself. After smothering my face with cream I went back to bed. I lay awake for a long time, unable to get the
dream off my mind. Why had it seemed so real? What could it possibly mean? And what of my dream man calling me Marla? It sounded right somehow. I was connected to the name in some way—I knew it—but how?

I fell asleep finally, willing Leif to return.

Leif didn’t return. And the black void that had claimed every night of my sleep for the last two months was missing too. It ought to have been a relief, but it wasn’t. I ached for the sound of Leif’s voice and its absence put me into a bad mood. Jack arrived as I sat down to breakfast the next morning. He looked hot in his black jeans and band T-shirt. Then again, he could have teamed his dad’s cords with a jumper knitted by his granny and still looked as good. My friend just owned a confidence that was as much a part of him as his skin. I often wondered what that felt like.

‘Hey, Marla,’ he said, coming inside. My mood lifted instantly.

‘I’m Marla now?’ I could feel a smile hovering at the corners of my lips.

‘Don’t you want to be?’

‘Yes!’ I loved that he just knew.

‘Well then.’ He took my chin in one hand. ‘You look better,’ he decided after a moment’s scrutiny. It was a blatant lie—I looked revolting.

I gave him a look. ‘Jack, seriously?’

He brought his face close to mine. ‘What’s a little swelling?’ He leaned down and kissed my nose.

I rolled my eyes, then turned away to hide my smile and returned to the table to finish my breakfast. ‘Do you want a drink or something?’

‘Wouldn’t mind a coffee, but eat first, I can wait.’ He flashed me a grin and flopped into the closest lounge.

‘You know you could make it yourself, Jack.’

‘Tastes better when you do it.’

I smiled and shook my head. ‘
So
lazy.’

He stayed put. I finished my breakfast then got up to make the coffee. Just as I sat back down there was another knock on the door.

‘That’ll be Hilary,’ Jack said. ‘She’s coming to the beach with us—if you’re up to it, of course.’

Hilary Davies was my other best friend, had been since primary school. She was one of the most caring people I had ever met. ‘I’d have to be on my deathbed not to be,’ I said as I got up.

‘You almost were.’ Jack’s tone was quiet and serious. I stopped, turned back to him. The expression on his face matched his voice.