Chanel Sweethearts (14 page)

It had been a miserable couple of days since Jessica's visit to the boys. She'd been so frustrated and pissed off with Graham pushing her out the door and speaking to her like an idiot that she'd just let loose and screamed with frustration on the drive home. Finally, with her throat sore from yelling and her heart pounding with adrenaline, she decided she was going to fight the bastard. There was no way she was going to give up on being a part of the boys' life, no matter how difficult Graham tried to make it. Just making the decision made her feel stronger and more determined and she liked feeling that way.

Now she stood in front of her bedroom mirror and twirled. She felt gorgeous in her vintage fifties frock. Today was the annual Peninsula Polo Match and she was determined to get out and enjoy it. She didn't even care if she ran into Nick: she felt ready to face him now. One kiss shouldn't change the wonderful relationship they shared. She didn't know what the truth was about his past, but she had enough going on her life right now without getting into that as well.

Smiling at her reflection one last time, she grabbed her keys and clutch bag, and jumped in the Patrol.

Her mobile trilled as she was driving out Springforth's gates. She hit accept, then the speaker button. ‘Hello, Jessica Wainright.'

‘Hello, gorgeous!'

‘Hi, Jimmy,' Jessica said and a smile crept over her face. ‘How are you?'

‘Fantastic; better for hearing your voice of course. Hey, I hear you whipped the specs off Mimsy the other week. She was dead impressed, my girl. I knew she would be.'

‘Really? I wouldn't have guessed, she's not exactly exuberant with her praise is she?' Jessica replied.

‘Yes, she's been working on that whole enigma thing for some time now. It's one of her specialties. She'd never let anyone know how she really felt.'

‘Tell me about it. It's quite intimidating.'

‘Well the job's confirmed. Mimsy's given us her blessing. You still on board?'

‘Absolutely,' Jess answered, and punched the air with excitement. ‘I cannot wait.'

‘Brilliant, my style guru, I'll have the documents drawn up and see you at work on the eighteenth.'

Jessica hung up as she turned into the Polo Club car park. ‘Woohoo,' she whooped aloud. ‘I got a new job, I got a new job,' she chanted happily, beating time on the steering wheel and grinning crazily at herself in the rear-view mirror.

It was perfect timing: now she wouldn't have to face the Nick issue at all, her store was humming along nicely on its own and she was more than ready for a change. Perfect.

Her car crawled along in a queue of black Range Rovers, merlot Cayennes, navy X5s and forest green Land Rovers streaming into the paddock. The lumbering vehicles reversed into position and the dusty, shabby field was soon transformed into a five-star circus as boots were flipped open, trestle tables assembled and decorated and market umbrellas festooned with lengths of floral bunting.

Well-modulated greetings crisscrossed the car park and by the time the first couple of bottles of Domain Chandon were downed and the laughter became more hysterical, the raucous sulpher-crested cockatoos gave up competing with the noise and flew off.

The fashionable coastal town was enjoying its finest hour (according to visitors, anyway). The polo was on and people from miles around – both those with a passion for the sport and those with the name monogrammed on their shirts – attended in droves. It was the ultimate Peninsula social occasion for the well-heeled country visitor keen to elevate or cement their social status.

The air rang with names: ‘Oh, we're at the Baileau marquee'; ‘Oh, really, we're at Pratt'; ‘Come and say hi to us at the Smorgon tent'; ‘Oh, darling, I couldn't leave my dear friends the Murdochs.'

Despite the pretension, Jessica always enjoyed the polo, and today there was a sense of magic in the air that came with finally knowing where her future lay. As always, she and Linda had set up her mobile cafe on-site to soak up the fun of the day. They had the operation down to a fine art. Pretty chiffon fabric lined the marquee's interior, and the tables were draped in muslin and topped with jasmine flowers in cut-crystal vases. Jess's white-on-white theme delighted the polo elite, who loved being seen as they sat daintily at her tables, sipping lattes and waggling their fingertips at acquaintances. Fi, Cat, Tori, Caro, Cyn and Binky had left their children with their reluctant husbands and decided to enjoy a girls' day out, basing themselves at Jess's cafe. This suited Jess very well, as she could sit and enjoy the fun with her friends, while keeping an eye on her staff as they kept up with the coffee and food orders. ‘Darling, the cafe is delightful. How sweet!' Tori exclaimed as she swept in, air-kissing several other women as she glided past. Only Jess picked up on the slight twitch of sadness at the side of her friend's mouth, the deep crease in her forehead.

‘Gorgeous, my dear. We need you up at Flemington with us next year,' Cat boomed.

‘Well, funny you should mention that,' Jess said, serving from the platter of spring vegetable frittata the waitress had placed in the centre of the table as first course. ‘I've decided I'm doing it: I am moving to the city.'

‘What?' Cat, Cyn and Binky chorused in surprise. But Jessica was their country pet. She couldn't move to the city. Where would they get their pumpkin scones from during their winter sojourns?

‘Yes, Mimsy Baxter loves her,' Caro said with something approaching pride. ‘We've planned it all out. She's moving in with me until she finds her own place.'

‘But what about the General Store?' Cyn whined. ‘How will I know I can still get good coffee when you're gone?'

‘It's okay,' Jess said, patting Cyn on her Tiffany solitaire. ‘Linda is still managing it, as she's done for the past year. She makes a wonderful espresso.'

‘But, as I've said before, how will you cope, darling? The city's quite challenging, you know. It will be a real culture shock, you know,' Binky said.

‘Oh, don't talk nonsense, Binky,' said Caro. ‘It's Melbourne, not Mars. You're quite mad.'

Jessica just laughed. ‘I'll be fine, I'll Google images of trams and instructions on how to catch a taxi.' These women were being completely ludicrous. She'd lived in town when she'd studied, in the heart of the CBD actually, not to mention spending hours trawling inner city suburbs for art pieces and props.

‘But what about hook turns, darling? I'm a native and they confuse the hell out of me!' Binky said.

‘I have been to the big city before, Binky, I'll be fine.' Good Lord, Jessica thought as she took a bite of frittata. This group had completely pigeonholed her. Was she really such a country bumpkin?

Cyn brushed a crumb from her black ruched Easton Pearson skirt. ‘I'm sorry, we shouldn't sound so negative. Do tell all; what's the job about?'

‘Well it's a design role, actually, which is terrifying and exciting all at once. I'll be working as Mimsy Baxter's head designer.'

‘Really?' Cyn, said.

‘That is prestigious,' Cat added.

‘Still Life is a really big and important company,' Cyn said.

‘And Mimsy is, like, so famous. I met her once, you know,' Binky said.

‘You must be really good...' Cyn drifted off.

‘Of course she's good, you ninny!' Caro snapped at Cyn. ‘She's better than good: she's wonderful. How can you look at the General Store and the gallery and not see it?'

‘Oh, I'm colourblind and spatially challenged. I need a stylist just to dress myself,' Cyn giggled.

‘Then keep your opinions to yourself, for goodness sake.'

Although it was perhaps a little aggressive for a ladies' lunch, Jessica could have hugged her sister-in-law for standing up for her.

As for Cyn, she tossed her titian locks, folded her arms and shut her mouth.

‘Tell them about it,' Caro instructed Jess.

‘Well, Jimmy McConnell is the Chief Operating Officer, so he'll be my direct boss, but Mimsy sets the direction.'

‘Jimmy McConnell – I've heard of him. A real man about town,' Cyn said, not one to be absent from a conversation for too long. ‘He's just split from his second wife.'

‘He's really nice. He's been very supportive,' Jessica said. ‘I knew him from school. We were friends back then.'

‘What will you do with the farm?' Cat asked. ‘It won't run itself.'

Jess bit back a sarcastic remark and instead answered, ‘Nick will be looking after it. He knows what he's doing.'

‘Actually I plan to be down here a lot more,' Caro interrupted. ‘Angus and I need more family time. Of course, it's not actually Jessica's farm, it's her father's, so my little family might just have our turn for a while. And besides, I suddenly feel a real need to get my hands on that property: it has so much potential.'

‘What do you mean?' Jessica asked, alarmed at Caro's comment. She felt a tad apprehensive about leaving the property in the care of Caro and Angus. She'd always thought that Nick would continue running things.

‘Well, darling, you'll be a city girl now, with city friends, doing metro things like Chapel Street and Bridge Road on the weekends. You won't have time to play farmers. I thought I'd help you out a little by taking over the reins.'

‘Oh, really?' Jessica said. ‘Well, that's very nice of you.' She quietly chastised herself for being greedy. It was only fair that Caro and Angus had their chance to enjoy the property and she had to trust that Caro would manage it just as well as she had.

‘Darling,' Tori stood and flattened down the creases in her frock. ‘Fancy a walk to the ladies' with me?'

‘Of course.' Jess suspected her friend wanted a private chat. ‘Let me just grab my bag.'

They linked arms and carefully picked their way through the paddock, weaving between the open car boots and polo fans.

‘Thanks, love,' Jess said. ‘I needed a break from the grilling they were giving me.'

‘My pleasure.' Tori nodded. ‘I was hoping we could steal a quiet moment for a quick chat anyway.'

‘How are things going at home?' Jess asked. She grabbed Tori's hand. ‘You okay?' she asked.

Tori looked at her blankly and all emotion drained from her face. ‘Well, it looks like our timing is crap.' She gave a brittle laugh. ‘While you go off to start a new life in the city, I'll be moving down here permanently.'

‘Does that mean you and Joseph have decided to break up?'

‘Yep,' Tori said. Her voice was flat. ‘It's a done deal I'm afraid.'

‘Oh Tori.' Jess's instant reaction was to put her arms around her friend and hold her. Tori was stiff and unyielding in her arms. Jess studied her face: Tori's eyes were glassy. ‘Tori, talk to me, tell me everything.'

‘It happened last night. He came down and we talked. It was the world's weirdest break-up. I asked him gently, quietly, if he wanted to split. He said yes, it was probably for the best. I asked him if there was someone else.' Tori looked up, her grey eyes molten with pain. ‘And, Jess, he looked at me as though the nastiness of the last six months was nothing compared to how much I hurt him with that one sentence.' She folded her arms around herself protectively.

‘I tried to take it back, but the damage was done. He said those sorts of comments were exactly the problem; it showed that I didn't even know him. And he's right, Jess.' She shuddered with emotion. ‘I didn't know him. I wrote him a long letter explaining how I felt. I said how sorry I was that I hadn't been able to make it work and left it for him this morning. Then we had a bizarre SMS conversation about logistics this morning. I offered to stay down here after the holidays end. And then we'll just see what the next few months send us as a family.'

‘Tori, you poor love.' Jessica grabbed some tissues from her bag to dry her own tears as Tori stared dry-eyed into the distance.

The morning's howling norwesterly had whipped the surf into a pounding frenzy that had tradies across the Peninsula pulling sickies, and smartly suited executives rescheduling their days' work to take advantage of the perfect swell.

Nick was no exception. He'd swapped his usual early-morning start at Springforth to hit the beach at dawn. Not that anybody would mind. Richard was happy with whatever hours Nick chose to work, as long as the job got done.

Walking back up the beach with his board under his arm, he felt exhilarated by the morning's exercise. A few hours in the pumping surf always cleared his mind and helped centre his thoughts – and there was certainly a lot going on in his head at the moment.

The kiss he had shared with Jess had been amazing, unexpected and overwhelming. She'd always been special to him but he'd resigned himself long ago to just being her friend; he'd thought it was the best he could hope for and had swallowed any dreams he had had for more. But the kiss changed everything. It told him that not only was there a powerful physical chemistry between them, it seemed she wanted him as much as he wanted her.

He shook the salty water from his hair and leaned his board against the front wall of his shabby fibro shack.

But everything had been so weird between them since the kiss; what if that one intense, glorious moment had ruined their friendship? He valued Jess too much to lose her altogether. He knew that she was thinking about moving to the city, and he had no right to ask her to stay, not unless he was honest about how he felt. He needed to show her he meant business; that he was really into her and was the right choice. Then she would realise that she couldn't possibly leave him.

He unzipped his wetsuit to the waist, pulling his muscular arms free of the sticky rubber, and rubbed his towel vigorously over his chest.

Inside, the house was already heating up for what was threatening to be another scorcher. He peeled off the bottom half of the wetsuit and flung it into a corner of the bathroom where it landed in a crumpled headless faint. His skin tingled with relief when he stepped into the powerful stream of hot water running from the shower.

Jess's face played in Nick's mind; her smile teasing his imagination and the memory of her lips on his, fuelling a desire to touch her and be with her so intense that it shocked him. He thought of her wide smile and generous cheeks and how much she hated being what she called a moonface. Of course, it was exactly this broad, round face that kept her looking so much younger than her thirty-seven years.

He remembered how her figure looked in the sari at the party; generous hips, and perfectly in proportion breasts to match. His thoughts lingered on her breasts a little longer as he remembered a red and white dotted bikini he'd seen her in the previous summer.

‘This is crazy,' Nick said aloud to the empty room. He twisted off the taps and dried himself quickly, grabbing a clean T-shirt from the pile on the end of his bed.

He dragged his Levis on and buckled his favourite leather belt into place before moseying into the kitchen to flick on the kettle.

He loved this shack. Sure, it was no palace, but then it was eighty years old, and was probably well past its use-by date. Nick didn't care that there was constant upkeep on the old place, which leaked in a different spot each winter, had rising damp and a rusted, corrugated roof that was more patched than original.

The timber kitchen cupboards were lime green with bakelite handles. Pokey and deep, they were lined with cracked and peeling adhesive lining with a fruit and vegetable motif. Soon he'd need to spend some serious money updating the place. He loved his home too much to seriously consider moving; and where else would he find somewhere right on the beach like this?

Nick wandered into the lounge room in search of his favourite mug. The lounge suite was a hand-me-down from his parents. Brand new in the sixties, by the early nineties it had been old-fashioned and lame; yet another thing for Imogen to find hideous about her wedding nest. But today the Scandin avian style setting was retro chic; in fact, Jessica loved it. The slim, angled blond timber legs and arms of the suite were elegantly tapered, and aqua bouclé fabric covered the armchair and sofa cushions.

It was fifteen years now since he'd bought the shack, back when he and Imogen were first married and expecting. He had paid a hefty premium for the location, but it was a mere fraction of the land value now.

He'd felt very proud of himself at the time. Sure, he'd made a mistake by getting his girlfriend pregnant. But he had done the right thing: he'd married her and then he put a roof over her head, with what he thought was the best view in the world. At twenty-two years old it wasn't easy working enough odd jobs to service a mortgage, but he was determined to be husband, father and provider, so he'd done it. He'd saved enough for a deposit (with his parents helping out by matching him dollar for dollar) and then he kept up the repayments, even if it sometimes meant working fourteen to sixteen hour days.

Imogen had complained bitterly that she would have been more comfortable in a contemporary unit in the suburbs with all the mod cons, but Nick reckoned nothing could beat being lulled to sleep by the rhythm of the ocean and waking each morning to see the swell from his bedroom window. The view alone made up for the outdoor dunny. But in deference to Imogen's needs he had added an indoor toilet and bathroom as soon as they moved in – but that was the only concession to modern domestic living he'd been able to afford to make.

Now Nick was glad that he hadn't bowed to pressure and slapped in a cheap Ikea kitchen. It would have detracted from the time-warp look he had going on in here now.

Yesterday's newspaper was strewn across the coffee table, with sections spilling across the couch and onto the floor. He scooped it up and dumped it in the firewood basket, admiring the original stonework of the chimney as he always did. It was his favourite part of the house. A rosewood sideboard, again with elegantly tapered timber legs, sat under the window. A Newtone vase sat on top of the sideboard. He hadn't a clue what it was when he bought it at the secondhand shop he'd just liked the green hue and how it mottled so well with the brown base of the thing. It was Jessica who pointed out that he'd found a true Australian treasure.

The kettle boiled. He found his Hawthorn mug under the armchair, rinsed it out in the sink, then sniffed it suspiciously. He rinsed it one more time.

He grabbed a CD at random from the pile on the kitchen bench, put it in the player and cranked it. As he leaned back against the sink to sip his scalding coffee, the opening notes of the Hoodoo Gurus' ‘What's My Scene' filled the shack and drifted down the beach to the few remaining surfers, who nodded along in time.

The music transported him back decades and he found his gaze shifting to a small framed picture on the wall. He'd played this CD over and over the night he'd celebrated the birth of a baby girl, his baby girl. His daughter.

The memory was painful. He glanced again at the picture. At the hand prints; tiny little hands. It seemed impossible a life could have been supported by something that minuscule, but he knew it had; he had seen the life force, the energy in her navy blue eyes.

He put his strong weathered hand next to the little fairy print and shook his head. Tears pricked at the back of his eyes and he exhaled loudly, puffing out his cheeks and shaking his head more vigorously.

‘That was then, this is now,' Nick said out loud and steeled himself.

Life could be so cruel and take happiness away so suddenly. He had learned that a long time ago. Suddenly Jessica's face flitted in front of his eyes again.

He really needed to see her. He wanted her in his life and he needed to tell her how he felt – now that he had finally worked it out himself, he thought wryly. The idea of her moving was crazy; what was she thinking? This was her home, here with him and the people who loved and appreciated her. She needed a reason to stay; he had to let her know she had a future here.

Nick texted her:
‘
Brunch? I'm cooking' and started to throw some food and drinks into a recycled supermarket bag. He had a King Island brie in the fridge, but no crackers so he whipped up some toast. He was really good at toast. What else?

Was this a good idea? He suddenly second-guessed himself as the toast darkened in the grill behind him. What if she laughed at him? Or was so shocked that their friendship was wrecked forever?

Bugger! The room was filling with smoke and he had no clear idea if he was doing the right thing, but he kept preparing anyway. He took another look at the hand prints on the wall and felt resolved again.

He really needed one more time alone with Jess, one more chance to let her know. How could he have let it all fall apart so badly after New Year's Eve? He'd run off confused, horny and a bit drunk, just going for a quick walk to clear his head. But, with his mind whirring and the beach calling, he'd found himself back home. He should have gone back to the party. He should have carried the kiss through. She was probably hurt.

That was four days ago; he should have called her by now. He should have, but he'd been too scared of what might happen. He knew now that he'd let her down by acting as if everything between them hadn't been irrevocably changed by that one charged moment.

They'd been through a lot of ups and downs in their decades of friendship. They hadn't seen each other at all for the ten years after Imogen and Nick had split. He didn't blame Jessica– after all, he'd been the one who cut her out of his life. Jess, her boyfriend, Pete, and Nick had all been good mates at school, but after he'd married Imogen she'd insisted he shun all their friends and focus just on her.

There were always mates to have a beer with at the pub on a Friday night, but he'd missed Jess, and the way she understood him.

God, she was beautiful. He decided to whip up a batch of pancakes; they were her favourite.

After he'd lost both his wife and his daughter he'd gone to ground. For a long time he was too broken and grief-stricken to be of any use to anyone. In those long years he'd just worked and surfed and tried to get his mind on track again. He'd kept his emotions locked up in a dark place that he would never let anyone access.

Then, finally, four years ago, he'd come out of the isolation and dark depression that had haunted him for a decade and the first person he'd run into was Jess, and within minutes it was as if they'd never been apart. She had just met Graham and was bubbling with new love and the thrill of her instant family. He'd been happy for her and they had fallen comfortably back into a close, supportive friendship that had sustained them both.

Of course it hadn't taken long for Nick to see what a user Graham was. It made his blood boil to see him live in Jessica's house, have her care for his kids like some kind of free au pair. He knew it was just one big use from start to finish. And he suspected Jessica did too, the way she changed the subject so abruptly every time it came up. He knew why she kept her head firmly wedged in the sand. It was those little tykes. They were just so important to her. He understood why she put up with Graham as long as she did. Kind of.

He was livid when he first found out Graham had ditched her, and then when it was apparent the boys were never coming home the furious impotence surged inside. Nick wanted to take action, do something, force Graham into shared custody, hire lawyers, rant, fight, punch. Jess was dying inside, and he missed the little guys too.

He finished cooking the pancakes and waited for them to cool. His phone tinged with an incoming SMS from Jess: ‘OK. Where & when?'

‘Bushman's beach, 20mins,' he replied, noticing her text was less than enthusiastic; that was okay, he knew he had important ground to recover.

He slapped some of Jessica's own General Store jam on the pancakes, put them in an old ice-cream container, grabbed a bottle of wine, some plastic tumblers and a few apples.

Nick was more excited than he'd been for years; everything finally seemed clear. They would work it all out.