Me Without You

P
ublished by Bookouture
, an imprint of StoryFire Ltd.

23 Sussex Road, Ickenham, UB10 8PN

United Kingdom

www.bookouture.com

Copyright © Kelly Rimmer 2014

Kelly Rimmer has asserted her right to be identified as the author of this work

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publishers.

T
his book is
a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events other than those clearly in the public domain, are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

I
’ll forever be
grateful to Oliver Rhodes for seeing the potential of this story long before it was realised, thanks for your guidance and encouragement. Thanks also to Emily Ruston, editor extraordinaire, for so many brilliant ideas and improvements to the “rough diamond” we started with.

T
o the dear
friends who read and re-read various drafts and so generously provided feedback and encouragement; Tracy, Melissa, Penny, Shelly and Cath—thank you.

M
y sisters
, Mindy and Jodie; thanks for being my personal writing cheer squad since my first late-night storytelling sessions when we were insomniac kids. And to my baby brother Rick (who secretly loves my cooking), thanks for always having my back.

T
o Mum and Dad
, who have taught me that real love is a beautiful, complex thing—thanks for believing in me.

M
y husband Dan
—where would I be without you to distract me with cricket chat whenever I wanted to talk myself out of trying? Thank you for providing random motivational quotes, distraction-free minutes (and occasionally even hours) and most of all, unquestioning support.

I
t was absolutely
not
love
at first sight.

I saw a filthy bare foot out of the corner of my eye. I tried not to look, but facts are facts—bare feet in public places are inexcusable, and at that point I hadn’t realised what the body the foot was attached to was like. I’m sure I grimaced, but I did try to keep my eyes on the laptop I was working on. Evidently I failed because she caught me staring.

‘My eyes are up here,’ she said, but she sounded amused and I glanced up to see if I’d misread the tone.

That’s how we made eye contact. And that’s when I fell in love with her—so maybe it was actually love at second sight.

Lilah was all kinds of wonderful, in ways words could never quite capture. She was barely five feet tall and so skinny it seemed she’d break if you held her too tightly. That day, her deep auburn hair was in a glossy bun without a single flyaway and I remember thinking of the joke I’d heard about corporate types thinking hair that moved was a sign of weakness. Lilah somehow knew how to wear a plum suit with chunky wooden accessories and still appear flawlessly professional.

There was something so wrong with the polished top half of her image juxtaposing the homeless-esque foot situation. Although I was embarrassed to have been caught staring, I just had to ask.

‘Why aren’t you wearing shoes?’

‘Listen, buddy. I stood for eight hours today. In stilettos,’ she informed me. She gave the women around her a
can you believe this guy?
glance.

‘That’s no reason to be barefoot now. Anyway, if you’d worn more sensible shoes, you would still have clean feet.’

‘Oh, so
that’s
the answer.’ The sarcasm was softened by a laugh. ‘Tomorrow when I walk into court and the judge asks me why I’m wearing my runners, I’ll tell him some guy on a ferry told me to.’

‘One of the many, many things that completely baffle me about women is what you’ll put yourselves through for rules that only women care about.’ I’d had the argument with nearly every woman I knew at some point. It never ended well.

‘Rules only women care about?! I once got fired because I refused to wear make-up to work,’ the woman beside Lilah chimed in. Almost before she’d finished the sentence, Lilah had passed her a business card.

‘You should call my firm. We can help you with that,’ she said, but her attention was back to me in an instant. ‘Are you seriously suggesting to me that the reason women dress professionally for work is to impress other women?’

‘I’m all for professionalism. You can see I’m wearing a suit, and I do every day I’m in the office. But if someone suggested to me directly or indirectly that I had to wear nipple clamps to get ahead in my career, I’d see through it. If your shoes hurt your feet, wear less elaborate shoes. Simple.’

It was at this point, possibly belatedly, that I realised I had about ten sets of angry female eyes pointed in my direction. I twisted my neck to see how far away Manly Wharf was.

‘Thinking about swimming away from the argument?’ Lilah asked.

‘I know I can’t win. Men aren’t allowed to challenge the institution of womanhood.’

‘Mate, if you’re
going
to challenge the institution of womanhood,’ the man beside me muttered, ‘
don’t
do it on a boat at sea against a lawyer who just spent eight hours standing in high heels.’

‘Wise words,’ Lilah agreed.

‘I’m not wanting to be argumentative,’ I said, although clearly I was. ‘I genuinely don’t understand why women feel they have to put themselves through pain to look good. You’re a beautiful lady, Miss...?’

‘Ms.—and it’s none of your business.’

‘Ms. None of My Business,’ I repeated. ‘You’d be equally as beautiful and professional in a pair of flat leather shoes as you were today in your stilettos.’

‘Thank you for your kind, if somewhat patronising, words.’

The interaction was probably drawing to a close, but there was no way I was going to get off that ferry without finding out who she was. I had been waiting a very long time to feel as fascinated by someone as I was by this mysterious lawyer, even with her filthy bare feet.

‘And what area of law do you practise in?’

‘Guess.’

‘Oh.’ I’d done a few law subjects at uni, but it felt like centuries ago, rather than decades. ‘Corporate?’

‘Nope.’

‘Property.’

‘No.’

I looked at her again. Something about her outfit suggested she fit ever-so-slightly out of the ordinary corporate grind.

‘Ah. It’s got to be family law.’

‘No!’ She laughed again. Her laugh was delicate and musical—exactly the sound you’d think a woman as beautiful as Lilah should make when she laughed.

‘Employment?’

‘Wrong again.’

‘Criminal.’

‘Nope.’

‘What other areas
are
there?’

‘Only the most important and dynamic.’

‘Copyright law?’

She looked at me suspiciously.

‘Are you in the entertainment industry, sir?’

It was my turn to laugh.

‘Marketing.’

‘Even worse. I can see that, with that capitalist head on your shoulders, you’re not even going to spare a thought for the planet that supports you. Typical.’

The penny dropped.

‘You’re an environmental lawyer, out to save the world.’

‘Finally!’

‘Sorry to be obtuse. I just thought environmental lawyers wore hemp T-shirts and had dreadlocks, but now that you mention it, the bare feet should have given it away.’

‘I can’t help but wonder…’ she said, but stopped midsentence as if she’d thought better of whatever she was about to say. In hindsight, knowing Lilah, it was probably a ploy to test my interest level, rather than an actual hesitation.

‘Yes?’ I prompted. The truth was, I was hanging on her every syllable.

‘Oh, nothing.’ She flashed me a smile and my cliché of a stomach did a flip-flop. ‘Just wondering how you’re going to turn this banter on its head and ask me out for dinner.’

‘I was just wondering if he was going to make you go home and put sensible shoes on first,’ the lady next to her laughed.

‘I’m wondering if you should invite the rest of us as backup—I think you might be outwitted,’ the man beside me said under his breath. There was general chuckling from the area around us, but Lilah and I had locked gazes, and the sound washed over me like the canned laughter of a sitcom.

‘Tonight?’ I asked.

‘I don’t go on dates with marketing guys.’ Her tone was playful and I knew she would.

‘I have an herb garden on my kitchen windowsill.’ It was a total lie, of course—I didn’t even
have
a window sill at that point, given that I’d torn out most of the kitchen during a renovation I’d never quite gotten around to finishing. It didn’t matter—my desperate pitch inspired further laughter from our audience, and Lilah grinned at me.

‘Oh, well, in
that
case…’

W
e stepped
off the ferry together, as the crowd began dissipating into the mild Manly twilight. Lilah had an oversized handbag on her shoulder that I could see held a laptop, and I had several hours’ work that I had planned to finish before morning. I didn’t believe in destiny—I still don’t—but somehow I knew to pay attention to the moment, as if I had just started a once-in-a-lifetime journey.

‘So, you’re an evil marketing genius,’ she prompted. We were waiting to cross the road to the Manly Corso and the late peak-hour traffic was still heavy.

‘Something like that. I did spend today planning ways to trick children into buying poison.’

‘Lace it with sugar.’

‘We’ve been doing that for years. My new technique is to lace it with sugar
and
cocaine—I’m always thinking of new ways to keep them addicted.’

The joke fell a little flat. She gave me half a smile out of pity.

‘Why marketing?’

‘Why anything?’ I shrugged. ‘I like the challenge of changing people’s minds.’

The light turned amber and the flow of traffic slowed, then stopped. We surged forward automatically with the crowd to the Corso, because that’s what people in Manly seemed to do. The Corso was lined with stores and restaurants, and the other end of the street opened up literally on the sand. Day or night, summer or winter, there was always a stream of bodies being funnelled along the Corso, drawn by the pull of the beach.

‘Did you fit these torturous stilettos into that handbag somewhere?’ I asked. I was hesitant to mention her bare feet again, but I couldn’t imagine any restaurateur being pleased with a barefoot patron, even though we were only a few hundred metres from the ocean.

‘Nope, they’re safely under my desk at work, resting up preparing for more torture tomorrow. How about I show you my favourite place?’ she suggested. Then, reading my mind, ‘There
are
places in Manly that don’t mind that I’m a filthy hippy.’

‘You run around barefoot often enough to know that?’ I asked.

‘Life is too short to be uncomfortable. If my feet hurt, I take my shoes off. If my bun annoys me, I pull it out. Which reminds me.’

She stepped against the shop to her right and passed me the oversized handbag, which I took mutely. It felt a little bit like she was so magical that any move she made was going to startle and amaze me, and my senses were on high alert. I watched as she removed several pins from her bun and unwound her hair down past her shoulders. It sprang and bounced with the movement of her hands and fell near her waist. The tight bun had shaped it into loose waves. She shook her head to loosen it further and then smiled at me. ‘That’s better.’

I still wish I could have stopped at that very moment and taken a photo of her on my phone. Darkness was falling and the artificial glow of the shop we stood beside illuminated the shroud-like fall of her hair. Her blue eyes sparkled like the ocean off Manly on a sunny day and a soft smile was on her lips. I amused her.

‘Ready?’ she prompted. Had I been staring? I wasn’t sure. The whole encounter was beginning to feel surreal. A fleeting thought breezed past my consciousness. Had I ever fallen in love? Was this what it felt like?

‘Let’s go,’ I said. I was achingly conscious of the pounding of my own blood in my ears. As I turned away from her to continue our walk towards the beach, she laughed again.

‘My handbag really suits you. Do you think sometime soon we should swap names?’

I passed her back her handbag and hoped she didn’t notice the warm flush creeping up my neck.

‘I’m Callum. Callum Roberts.’

‘Well, hi, Callum-who-lets-barefoot-strangers-pick-him-up-on-the-ferry,’ she grinned. ‘I’m Lilah Owens.’

‘I picked
you
up,’ I protested.

She grinned again. ‘Sure you did. Whatever makes you feel comfortable.’

Lilah. The name seemed perfect for her. I tried it on in my mind—
Lilah Roberts—
then mentally shook myself, horrified. I didn’t want to get married, ever; it wasn’t in the game plan. My parents had taught me a lot of things about love and marriage—the most important lesson being that those things were
not
for me.

‘Where
are
we going?’ I asked, to distract myself from the uncomfortable train of thought my mind had taken. I had a sudden urge to take charge. I’d been everywhere worth eating at in Manly, and I tried to figure out somewhere suitable. It needed to be informal because of the feet situation, but romantic—dim lighting? A decent wine list? Some mood music perhaps?
‘
Turners?’

‘Eww,’ she grimaced, clearly not impressed with my suggestion of the reputed best gourmet restaurant in the suburb. ‘No, we’re going to Giovanni On the Seaside.’

‘The pizza place?’ I was confused. We’d crossed the road and were walking side by side along the Corso now, towards the beachside road that housed Giovanni On the Seaside
.
It was a casual pizza place, with outdated décor, a low price menu and only a few tables—most of the business was takeaway.

‘Not highbrow enough for you?’ She was teasing me—or maybe testing me.

‘It’s absolutely fine.’ It was also kind of near my apartment, which seemed a bonus. ‘I didn’t pick you for a pizza girl.’ Mainly because she looked like she’d never eaten a mouthful of junk food in her life.

‘Doesn’t everyone love pizza?’

‘I suppose they do. What’s the case you’re working on?’

‘Well, today I was in court, trying to get an injunction granted to stop the development of a new mine.’

‘Why is the mine a bad thing?’

‘Most mines are bad things.’ Anyone else using that tone would have seemed arrogant. Lilah just seemed confident. ‘This one is supposed to sit just beyond a national park. There are three endangered species with habitats within a few kilometres of the site. It’s just too risky.’

‘Will you win?’

‘I should.’

Good thing I wasn’t the judge. I’d never have a hope in hell of concentrating on detail if she was arguing before me.

‘And what do you do in your spare time, Captain Planet?’

‘I cook a little. But mostly, I knit.’

I couldn’t tell if she was joking or not.

‘Jumpers?’

‘Booties, mostly. For the babies I’m going to have.’

Definitely joking.

‘I’ll bet you have a nursery set up and everything.’

‘Two, in case I have twins.’

‘Are you going to deflect every question I ask you?’

‘Are you going to ask me stupid first-date questions all night?’

‘If you were stuck on a desert island, what three things would you take?’

‘A GPS, a satellite phone and my laptop.’

I could smell the ocean, and the hint of pizza on the breeze. Giovanni On the Seaside was there before us, but suddenly I was hesitant. As Lilah moved to step inside, I gently caught her by the elbow and turned her back towards me. She raised an eyebrow.

‘I’m not sure I can take you to this casual little pizza place for our first date.’

‘And why is that?’

‘I think you deserve better.’

‘Well, aren’t you sweet?’ The bravado actually softened a little bit and she gave me her first genuine smile of the night. ‘But trust me, Callum, I’m a fussy eater, and there’s a dish here I just adore.’