The Girl in the Yellow Vest (32 page)

She quickly explained Mark’s job offer and, as she had known he would, Luke jumped on board with all the enthusiasm of a proud brother. ‘You have to take this!’

‘But what about Mum?’

‘We’ll work something out, between you, me and Zara.’

Zara walked in half an hour later after visiting Augustus. She also turned out to be surprisingly agreeable to the idea. ‘I think you should definitely do it. I can help look after Mum.’

‘You can’t flake out whenever you feel like it.’

Zara rolled her eyes. ‘I know! I’ll do a really good job. Promise.’ She headed off to her bedroom after that, not really interested in chatting more about it.

Charlotte frowned. Despite having broken some boundaries with their talk five days ago, they hadn’t really spoken much since then. Zara seemed to have withdrawn into herself and she didn’t know whether that was a good thing or a bad thing. Just then, she had a momentarily flash of Mark and heard his words again: ‘In case you haven’t noticed, she’s also a very sensitive young woman.’

Damn the man!

She followed her sister and hovered in her bedroom doorway. ‘So how are things with you, Zara?’

Her sister, who was sitting cross-legged on her bed, looked down at her hands. ‘Fine.’

‘I know you’ve been finding things difficult lately and I just wanted to reiterate that I’m here for you. Anything you need. Anything you want to talk about.’

Zara was silent, which was actually a good sign. Usually she kicked Charlotte out of her bedroom at the first sign of unwanted probing. So Charlotte came over to the bed and sat down at the edge of it.

‘How’s school?’

‘Fine.’

She searched for another topic. ‘How’s Augustus?’

‘He’s good. Getting better.’

‘I saw Mr Crawford today,’ Charlotte went on. ‘He mentioned you. I notice you’re getting rather chummy with him these days.’

‘Yes, I am.’ Zara tossed her head rather defiantly in a way Charlotte had been doing herself a lot lately. She almost laughed at the similar way they both dealt with being challenged.

Zara shrugged. ‘I like him.’

Charlotte had to ask, ‘
Why?
’

‘He’s not fake, like a lot of people are. He tells it how it is. And you may not notice, but he’s kind too. He’s given me a lot of good advice.’

Something between jealousy and chagrin bit her. ‘Zara, you haven’t told him about . . .?’ She couldn’t say it but, by her sister’s horrified expression, she seemed to guess what she was referring to anyway.

‘No, of course not! I just . . .’ She didn’t finish.

‘What?’ Charlotte squeezed her hand. ‘You can tell me.’

Zara bit her lip and looked down. ‘I’m scared, Charlotte.’

‘Oh honey.’ Charlotte immediately threw her arms around her and pulled her close. ‘I know you are. But there’s no need to be. Luke and I will protect you and love you, like we always have.’

‘No,’ Zara pushed back, ‘you don’t understand. I’ve done something really stupid and you’re not going to like it.’

Charlotte pulled away, dread raising goosebumps on her skin. ‘What? What have you done?’

Zara sucked in a breath. ‘When you said I couldn’t go to Rosemary’s party, I was so angry. I wrote to him, to my father, explaining who I was and telling him that I wanted to see him. Mum accidently mentioned his name that night. You know, Dennis Mayer. So I put that name on the front and posted copies of the letter to all the prisons in Queensland. I didn’t know then . . . what he’d done. I was just hurt and angry and I wanted to do something.’

Charlotte bit down hard on her lower lip and tasted blood. Pain shot straight to her temple. She shut her eyes and threw back her head.
No
. The mere thought of her sister having any sort of contact with that man was horrifying. Unthinkable. Her fingers trembled as she clasped them tightly together.

‘You’re angry,’ Zara stated.

What was the point in being angry when the damage was done? Panic on the other hand was perfectly reasonable. Her chest tightened as she struggled for breath. ‘Did he write back? Have you received a reply?’

‘No, nothing.’

She shuddered. ‘Well, that at least is something.’

Zara began to cry. ‘What do you think is going to happen now?’

‘I don’t know.’ Charlotte reached for her again and squeezed tight. ‘But I’m not going to be a sitting duck when it does.’

After dropping off Charlotte Templeton’s employment contract to show that their little trip to Inappropriate Park had not fazed him, Mark Crawford went home in a mood that would have sent the devil ducking for cover.

To date, Charlotte Templeton had been a thorn in his side or an annoying fly that he couldn’t seem to swat away. She had been irritating but he could deal with it.

Today was different.

Today she’d cut too deep. When she’d been swept off by that current, every drop of the grief and terror he had felt when he lost his brother had returned full force.

He knew he shouldn’t have gone diving. Number six on that damned list! He was a fool to continue following the wishes of his dead wife, who due to the fact that she was dead no longer had any real perspective. Water sports were something he had shared with his twin and only with his twin. When that shark had taken Simon, he’d let it all go.

Forever.

Or so he thought. Even his love of diving, which back in the day had been his favourite pastime, had not tempted him to return. Naively, when he saw Kathryn’s stipulation on the list, he thought he’d ease in slowly. Take a lesson or two. After all, it had been at least six years since he’d been underwater. He figured he’d get away from site for the day to a place where nobody knew him. Think about something else other than the project.

He didn’t realise that the something else was going to be Charlotte Templeton.

Lips as soft as cream, with a taste just as delectable.

He wanted to groan in agony at the memory.

Kissing her had been a paradox, a kind of orgasmic pain within which a sandstorm of feelings had welled. Even now the grains had still not settled.

Longing, need, desire, frustration . . . guilt.

Guilt.

That was the main one.

He didn’t understand how his respect for Kathryn could be so completely compromised. He knew that he would always love his late wife. She had brought so much to his life, and when she had died a part of him had gone with her. So how could he think about another woman in this way? It seemed unfathomable and yet such a relief.

What do I do?

What do I do?

For the first time in his life, he had absolutely no idea. He took out the list from his pocket. The folded bit of paper he now regarded as his link to Kathryn was rather worn looking. The creases were so etched it was impossible to fold it back another way. He had read the damn thing so many times that he already knew what the next item was. But he wanted to see the words in Kathryn’s handwriting. Savour them. Worry about them.

Visit an old friend.

The prospect of contacting people from his past, none of whom he’d spoken to for over two years, was scary. Who was he kidding? It was terrifying. He had retreated too far into himself. Closed every door. Locked every window and ignored the knocking, which in any case had stopped ages back. In fact, he’d pushed people away so firmly that he was not sure they would be want to be welcomed back into his life. They would probably enjoy shunning him as he had shunned them when they’d tried to reach out.

All the same, making contact with his past actually seemed less dangerous than trying to sort out his feelings for Charlotte. And if he were truly honest, there was one friend he had left in Perth who he often thought about.

Kathryn’s brother, Bill.

Their friendship pre-dated Mark even knowing Kathryn. They had met because they worked for the same company. They had liked each other due to their similar senses of humour. Until Kathryn had died, of course. Then Mark had grown more darkly cynical about everything.

Bill had been the first person he’d cut after Kathryn died. He hadn’t been able to look the man in the face without seeing his wife – they had similar features. Now, when he thought of Bill, a sadness welled in his heart. At the very least, he would like an opportunity to apologise.

Perhaps a trip to Perth was in order. It wasn’t like he didn’t have a copious quantity of R and R saved up. Besides, he needed to get away – pull himself together after what had happened on the pontoon.

Ann booked his flight for ten the next morning. He went into the office early to sort out management while he was gone. He chose Fish to run the show in his stead. He may not be the cleanest or most sweetly spoken individual but he had more experience on open sea wharves than anyone on the job, even Mark himself. He had known the man a long time and seen him in action on several jobs, which was why he’d accepted him on his own project even after he heard he’d been fired from the last one. All Fish needed was a clear pathway. It was choice that led him into trouble. With this in mind, Mark gave him a very detailed list of instructions. He also left Ann and Zara with a note about care for Augustus. They could sort out a bird sitting roster between them when he was gone.

Having sorted out management, Mark then drove to Mackay to catch his plane. Forty minutes in the car, alone with his thoughts, it was very hard not to think about the fact that Charlotte would be starting work that day and he would not be there to receive her.

Never mind.

He’d left that job to Will. Boy Scout was sure to make her feel welcome. The two of them seemed to get on really well. His brow crinkled. Though not too well he hoped. William was a nice enough young man, too nice on most occasions, but Mark had not previously considered him any sort of distraction to his female staff. Unfortunately, the boy seemed to have cleaned up his appearance recently. He’d seen the way Ann had stumbled over her feet when he’d walked in that morning and the way little Ms Emily had glared at her as though she was eating out of her plate. He sincerely hoped Charlotte wasn’t going to be affected by a messy haircut, crude shave and a lack of glasses.

As he realised where his mind was wandering he reined it back in but it didn’t behave for long. The simple truth was, he was going to have to do something about Charlotte Templeton. And he had better decide soon, if not immediately, what that was.

He whiled away the flight to Perth watching movies and dreading his return home. Walking through the front door was going to be the hardest thing he’d done in a while. It had been months since he’d checked on the place.

Surprisingly this time, his arrival was different.

Yes, when he first stood on the threshold gazing across what had been their main living area, that familiar overwhelming sadness rolled through him. But then as his eyes adjusted more fully to the room, a new sense of purpose began to form. Her favourite throw blanket was still strewn across the back of the couch, her magazines on his coffee table, her favourite photo of them on the wall. The wall they’d painted together. He could see a thick film of dust on all the wooden surfaces. The place no longer smelled of her. It smelled musty and unkempt. For the first time in the years since Kathryn’s death, he thought,
I need to clean this place up.

Before he lost the urge, he dropped his suitcase at the door and went to the laundry to fill a bucket with cleaning products. For the next three hours, he dusted, he vacuumed, he wiped, he mopped. And it felt great.

He got a box and collected all Kathryn’s things. Her blanket, her magazines, the winter slippers that were still strewn under her side of the bed, almost completely grey with dust. There were even some old tablets and other medical paraphernalia lying about, which he threw roughly into a bin bag. He took her books off the shelf and her handbag from the hall table. He tried not to look at anything too closely so that memories wouldn’t have a chance to crowd in. Soon there was a giant pile of her stuff by the door and he collapsed on the couch feeling partially sated.

He looked around at the place. It looked sparse but much less depressing. Certainly a place he could relax rather than stew in. After a long hot shower he fell onto his freshly made bed, straight into a deep sleep, unfettered by dreams.