I Will Not Run (9 page)

She fidgeted, biting down on her nails.

“He’ll pay for his crimes, you’ll see.” I slid an arm around her shoulder but she pulled away.

“Oh, I
know
that.”

I wanted to take her hand, but not when she was this riled. So I tried more reassurance. “I promise you. His time is coming to an end. I’ve decided to make Bruno my personal crusade.”

She turned to face me, her face warming up at last. “It’s just that he’s gotten away with so much already. Nothing sticks.”

“The police are going to get their proof, you’ll see. He’s going away for a long time. One way or the other, he’ll pay for what he did to Buttercup. You’re going to get the vengeance you badly need.”

She smiled again, and some of the sunshine came back. Clearly, I’d said the right thing again.

Her brilliant blue eyes sparkled. “Oh Bruno’s going to pay, make no mistake about that.”

I dragged the back of my hand across my chin. She was so darn hard to convince.

“Don’t go taking the law into your own hands, will you, Winter?”

She turned quickly, spinning around so that she faced the door, her hair cutting the air. “That’s my business, Dominic. My screwed-up husband is my problem. Best if you stay right out of it.”

I guided her back down the hallway and out into the side street. She was in her car and speeding off before I even noticed the van.

There was a white van parked at the end of the street. It was dusk now and hard to see inside the truck but I was sure I saw movement. Someone was in there, watching. Winter pulled out of her parking space and raced to the end of the road. The man in the van suddenly fired up and shot after her car. Was that a coincidence?

Chapter 12

Winter

Wednesday 8
th
August

Dear diary, you’re not going to believe where I went last night. I drove all the way over the gorge. It was the blackest night ever and there was no moon to guide me across those narrow fall-away roads. I went to see Dom.

Bruno was locked up, held for the night in the police station so I figured that this was the best chance I’d ever get.

It was 1.30 in the morning. I couldn’t sleep, not a wink. Everything was going around in my head the way things do during those darkest hours. My fear of Bruno is at its worst around one and two. Usually I wake up and start worrying about Bruno, then somehow I push those fears aside and start visualising Dom. I usually see him in a restaurant or at some party, surrounded by flirty admirers. Buttercup haunts my restless nights as well. It’s during these hours that I come face to face with my three demons: hatred, jealousy, and guilt.

So, after much tossing and rolling, I gave up trying to sleep and did what I really wanted to do. I phoned Dom.

“Winter?” he barked, answering abruptly after two rings. I heard him breathe out, like he was trying to quieten his hammering heart. “Is everything okay? Where’s Bruno?”

“Everything’s fine. Bruno’s been locked up for the night, just like you said he would be.”

More silence. “Yep, right, of course.”

“Sorry about the hour, it’s just that there’s something I need to talk to you about.”

“I’m listening.” The tension is his voice was beginning to mount.

I pressed on. I’d gone this far so there was no chickening out now, even if I was beginning to feel ridiculous. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to explain to you and I don’t think it can wait till morning.”

“Christ, what is it?”

“No, it’s okay. Just something I need to explain in person, while I can.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“They’re going to let Bruno out tomorrow morning, I think.”

“Yeah. The cops don’t have enough to hold him on, not yet anyway. I’ll pop over at first light, before they begin the releasing process. If I get to you by seven . . .”

I shook my head, although I knew he couldn’t see. “No. I’m coming over to you, right now.”

“Don’t be silly. That’s too dangerous. You can’t drive over the gorge now, it’s as black as a grave yard out there tonight, plus it’s raining. There’ll be no light of any sort over those mountain passes. Safer to wait till morning . . .”

“I’m a big girl, and my car has full bream. I’ll be fine.”

“Wait, Winter . . .”

“See you soon.” I cut off and tossed the phone down. Then it occurred to me, maybe he’s not alone. If I get to his house and he tries to hurry me out and send me straight home again, then I’ll know he’s with a woman. Better I find out now, before my feelings for him deepen.

It was freaky driving over that gorge. I’ve done it once before at three in the morning, but on that night there was a full moon shining bright as a spotlight and it turned the black air into a less angry grey. This time I had no comforting moon to friendly-up the crumbling edges. On any moonless night, the gorge offers 101 ways to die.

I drove ever so slowly and kept my full-beam on the whole way, driving right in the middle of the road, avoiding the rocky teeth and the fall-away sides. Was it my imagination or was the road getting narrower the further into the gorge I got? The ride over took a tortuous forty minutes and felt like an hour and forty.

I was well beyond relieved when I pulled up outside his home. These days Dom lives in two places. He’d inherited the cottage, rambling roses, box hedges, and long garden from his mum. I haven’t been inside Dom’s family home since he and I split eleven years ago. I haven’t been inside his Sydney apartment either but I know it will be uber modern and stylish. All those apartments down on the finger wharfs have views of the harbour.

I was relieved to see that his lights were on and blazing, which had to mean he was up and waiting for me. Every other house in the street was fast-asleep but his white-shuttered cottage was bright and welcoming. I locked my car then hurried up the driveway, shivering, not sure if my shakes were from the cold or from that hair-raising drive over. Maybe I should put my jitters down to anticipation.

He must have heard my car because he was out on the front porch beside the wisteria, waving at me.

“Come in,” he said, ushering me through the front door. I’ve always admired his family cottage; I love butler sinks and hanging copper pots and country cosy. His house feels like a real home, unlike that place I live in. We moved past the spilling bookcases on our way to the living room.

He must have been shopping in one of those design stores in Sydney because the furniture in the lounge was new. The fire was blazing even though it really wasn’t that cold. I raced up to the brick fireplace and stood in front of the flames with my back to him. At least now, if he noticed my shivery arms, I could blame the crisp night air. He thought it was cold enough to light a fire. Good. I’d use the cold to hide my shaky excitement.

I kept my back to him, facing the seductive flames, suddenly unsure. How stupid was I, darting over here in the middle of the night, like I had some emergency? What was I going to say now? Could I tell him the truth? I’d darted over here because I was feeling lonely and scared and all I could think about was having his giant arms around me?
No
,
I couldn’t admit to that
. I was the biggest idiot out. Thank goodness for those mesmerising, dancing flames.

I talked with my back to him because then I wouldn’t be able to watch that look come over his face, the expression I see on others. The look that labelled me flaky and falling apart.

The snapping, popping firewood was a blessing too because it filled the silence. The sap-filled wood was as noisy as a buss crammed with Christmas shoppers. Without those burning, exploding logs, the room would have been uncomfortably silent.

“Would you like a drink?” he asked, sounding secure, confident and almost professional, like he never did anything silly. I’d raced all this way over here, through the mist and rain because I, supposedly, had something urgent to say. If the tables were turned, I wouldn’t be offering him a drink, I’d be yelling,
Out with it, what the
hell’s up?

“Yes, please,” I answered, still speaking to the flames. I love the smell of an open fire, that earthy romantic scent of woody pine. It is the smell of the countryside and despite living the way I do, I still associate country with peace and calm, and happiness. Go figure!

He came towards me carrying two mugs. The curls of steam rose up shimming the air around his face. I recognised those cups, they were his old owl mugs, and I didn’t need to smell the sweet richness of chocolate to know what was inside them. His mother always used the owls for her infamous hot chocolate.

“Just like mum used to make,” I teased.

He smiled. “None of that horrid powder for us, no way. We’re having hot milk with melted marshmallows and real cubes of chocolate. It’s the only way.”

I accepted my owl with a beamy smile. “How could I have run away from a man who makes hot chocolate like this?”

Yikes, there it was, out of my mouth. I turned quickly not wanting to see his expression. Maybe this was why I’d come. I needed to explain about the past. I’d ended it between us in a letter of all things. I left him to run to Bruno.
How could I have done that?

I toyed with the zip on my jacket.
Say something, Dom!
He was quiet still. The awkward silence between us stretched on.

Lately, I’ve been wondering why he accepted Bruno’s lousy job offer, why would he want to come back into my life after all this time. Perhaps he came back to find out why I ran away from him all those years ago. Maybe he can’t move on till he knows the answer. He hates to lose. He’s had no practice at it.

I turned and peeked his way. His face was a mix of confusion and hurt.

“I left because I was stupid and didn’t know any better. You were older and much smarter than me. All those girls, they always hung around you, and you should have shooed them away. But you didn’t. You should have stood up for me more. Your life, you’d moved on past me. You’d become so much bigger than I could ever be.”

He shook his head.

“I was still a young girl in high school, remember. How could I compete with all those sophisticated college girls your own age? I let you go before you came to your senses and dumped me. I thought I was minimising my pain. That’s the truth.” I was facing him now, my hands on my hips, almost mad.

His eyes softened, but I could still see the hurt. “Old history,” he said, waving away my excuses.

I breathed, feeling almost lightheaded now that I’d gotten all that out. Wow, I’d been wanting to explain since he turned up at my house weeks ago. I sipped the chocolate again and tasted it properly for the first time. It really was good.

“I still don’t understand,” he said.

I was smiling at him now. It’s amazing, the effect relief has.

“What I don’t get is why you have come all this way over here tonight, in the rain, at this hour? You could have said all that tomorrow.”

I turned back towards the fire. “I don’t know.” I shrugged. “I wanted you to know that I really loved you, despite what I put in that letter. I was jealous of your life at Uni. I was a simple country girl and you were this giant success story. I got tired of hanging around, month after month waiting to be dropped, waiting for you to catch on and see me for what I really was. In the end, I couldn’t wait for the axe to fall, so I yanked it down on myself. I felt relieved afterwards,” I said, taking another sip. “I was married before it dawned on me that I’d made a mother of a mistake.”

“We were both so young. But I want you to know that you were never second, to anything or anyone.”

I gulped more hot chocolate, for need of something to do. I’d hurt him, and I was only realizing just how much right now.

I took a deep breath and turned to look him in the eye. “I went with Bruno because I needed someone strong enough to distract me from you. I didn’t want anyone that reminded me of you and Bruno couldn’t be more different.”

He rubbed his jaw. “You make it sound like you married Bruno to escape from me. Not for love or for any of the right reasons.”

“Dumb, hey? But eighteen-year-olds can do pretty dumb things.”

I tried to smile but my smile came out troubled and sad. “It’s funny. A few months after Bruno and I were married, I’d wake up in the mornings disorientated, not sure where I was. Then it would come back to me—Galston Gorge, Bruno—and I couldn’t help wondering how it had happened. How had I ended up here? How? I knew I was stuck. Bruno wasn’t the type to let go.”

“Why don’t you leave him right now?” Dom tried to ask that question casually, but I knew him well enough to know he was desperate for the answer, desperate to hear the truth.

But how could I admit to it? I’m staying because I have to kill my husband, how does anyone admit to that?

“You’re older and wiser now, Winter. Age is no longer an excuse. Like I’ve said, I’ll help you escape.”

“I’m leaving him, just not yet, okay. Soon, though, very soon. And that’s all I’ll say for now. It’s late and confessions are exhausting. Let me drink my chocolate.”

I gulped till the mug was empty. The rich velvety taste warmed me inside. Coming over here had been the right thing to do, after all.

He was watching. I felt his eyes without needing to see. He’s always appraising me, reading my reactions. I guess psychiatrists are still psychiatrists, even after five o’clock.

“But I don’t understand why you needed to tell me all this at two in the morning? Why couldn’t it wait till tomorrow?”

I walked straight past him, cradling my empty mug, almost running into the kitchen.

Calling over my shoulder, I said, “Is that your way of kicking me out? You’ve heard what I had to say and now you want me gone?” I was trying to avoid answering, and he damn well knew it.

I sat the mug in the sink and then turned on the tap. He stood in the doorway blocking my exit.

“I’m going to take a stab at why you’re really here, tonight of all nights, at two in the morning in the rain.”

I picked up the soap brush and swirled the water around the inside the mug, meticulously removing every trace of chocolate.

“You’ve come tonight because Bruno will be home in the morning and you’re frightened of what he might do to you when he returns. If you don’t explain all this to me tonight, you’re worried you won’t get a second chance. That’s it, isn’t it? You think Bruno’s going to be so mad in the morning that he’ll flip. You think he might even try to kill you.”

“Ha,” I said, putting the mug upside down on the draining board. “He’s nowhere near that insane.”

I went for a breezy I’m-not-worried look but Dom’s penetrating eyes saw deeper.

“You’re not going home tonight. I won’t let you.”

I rolled my eyes, “Don’t be silly. I have to go back.”

He reached out, latching on to my arm, then pulled me to him. “No you don’t. At first light, you’re driving to your mum’s place in the village. You can tell Bruno that she’s had another one of her attacks. She’s got her Meniere’s back again. You went home last night to help her through it. Your mum will go along with the story.”

“But Mum will ask questions. I don’t want her interference. It’s safer if I keep her out of all this. She doesn’t understand. I keep her in the dark, as much as I can. I don’t want her to worry.”

He dropped his arms, ending the embrace. Then he moved off towards the back door and turned the key, locking me in.

“Now that you’re staying here till morning, will it be champagne or would you rather have one of those sweet dessert wines you used to love so much?”

Did he forget anything? Could I stay the night? Could I get away with it? It looked like Dom had already made the decision for me. It was true, I was tired, so very tired and the thought of that horrid drive home over the gorge was more than I could cope with. It was so tempting to stay.

“I haven’t had one of those wines in ages. Why not? If you plan on holding me hostage, I might as well enjoy myself.”

“Done. Now make yourself useful and grab two glasses while I open the bottle.”