Come Back to Me (13 page)

As Mark threaded his way through the logjammed traffic towards work, he felt the same vaguely churning stomach and dizziness that he'd had for weeks. He'd contemplated seeing a doctor, but his symptoms were too vague, and besides, he had an uncomfortable suspicion about them.

It had come to him last night as he had lain in bed and tried to stop thinking about her. Could he be
in love
?

The prospect didn't excite him much, particularly if this was how it made him feel. Love was awkward, vulnerable and emotional, and Mark felt he was the antithesis of all those things. And yet when he thought of Chloe, well, maybe he was more of a suppliant fool than he cared to admit.

He reached the kerb just as the cars and buses began their slow crawl forward, and tried to gain control of his feelings before he reached the office.

Chloe's personality was what Mark thought of as understated, and that in itself spoke volumes to him. Every one seemed to like her; she was working on cases without antagonising people, yet was unafraid to assert her opinion, because she had the knack of making it sound like a point of view rather than the imposing assertion of fact that Mark went for, and it seemed to serve her just as well.

And she was very pretty, no one could deny that. He couldn't wait to see the glamorous side of her at the ball tomorrow night. It would make a change from an array of suits in dull navy, black and grey, however well they fitted her slim frame.

He reached the double doors of the office building and tried to compose his thoughts into sharp focus on what lay ahead of him at work. No contact with Chloe, that was for sure. She'd been taken under the wing of one of the senior solicitors who worked in the family-law area that Chloe was keen on, whereas Mark was learning fast about the genteel cut and thrust of the English litigation system.

‘Morning, Mark.'

‘Oh, hi Dad.' Mark resisted the urge to look down at his watch, hoping he was in at an acceptably early hour. Despite still living at home, Mark resisted coming to work with his father. He didn't want to remind others that Henry was the primary reason he worked for this firm, as he felt it devalued his own standing and hard work in having got this far.

‘Busy day ahead?' Henry Jameson peered at his son from underneath bushy eyebrows as he strode alongside him.

‘Is there any other type?' Mark tried to joke, and watched
his father smile, but without comment, making Mark feel slightly foolish for being so flippant.

They walked on in silence until they reached Mark's office. Henry followed his son in, while Mark took off his coat and laid his briefcase down.

‘Mr Jameson?'

They turned as one to see Charlotte, the new secretary, standing by the door. She was looking at Mark but flicked a nervous smile towards Mr Jameson Senior as well on seeing him there.

‘Mr Zanuski has been on the phone already, wanting to discuss the Connell case – apparently they are missing some documentation.'

‘Okay,' Mark said, ‘let me have the number and I'll get onto it.'

Charlotte walked across the office and handed Mark a memo slip, then turned on her heel and left, seemingly un aware that Henry Jameson's eyes were affixed to her shapely bottom.

Henry turned around with eyebrows once more aloft, and said, ‘What a looker.'

Mark smiled. There was no denying Charlotte was stunning, and by now he was used to his father's comments on the aesthetic merits of the opposite sex.

‘Taking Chloe on Saturday?' Henry asked.

‘Sorry? Oh, yes,' Mark replied, looking down at the memo slip, already running through the forthcoming phone conversation in his head.

Henry nodded, looked like he was about to say something, then changed his mind. ‘Okay, well, I'll see you
later,' he said. ‘I'm in meetings all day today.'

Mark nodded absent-mindedly, and when he looked up a moment later Henry had already gone.

 

When Chloe peeped around the door of his office at lunchtime, Mark's head was still buried in his work.

‘Want me to bring you anything?' she asked.

Mark looked up and smiled, trying to quell the surge of pleasure in his chest at seeing her.

‘If you've got time?' he asked.

‘Of course, what would you like?'

She was back with sandwiches fifteen minutes later, and came and sat opposite him without being invited, opening her own paper bag and pulling out a roll. Mark normally didn't like unagreed-to interruptions, but he couldn't be annoyed at her when she smiled at him like that.

‘How are you getting on?' she asked between bites, nodding towards his desk.

Mark blew out his breath and looked briefly at the ceiling then back at Chloe. ‘There's a lot to do.'

‘Sorry,' she said, wrapping the paper bag around the roll and making to get up, ‘I should let you get on.'

‘No, no,' Mark found himself saying, even though two minutes ago he'd thought exactly that. ‘Ten minutes doesn't matter.' He unwrapped his own sandwich, and said, ‘How's your brother then?' before taking a bite.

‘Okay, I think,' Chloe answered, ‘though he's about to cause a few ructions in the family. He wants to push Mum into giving him information about our father.'

Mark swallowed his mouthful, then said, ‘Really? And what do you think?'

‘I still think it's best left alone, but there's no reasoning with him – besides, who am I to stop him if it's important to him?'

‘You might get dragged into it, though.'

‘I might well,' she agreed, looking resigned.

They ate silently for a few moments, then Chloe said, ‘Actually, I was wondering … if you think it's too soon just say, but my family always have a party of some kind the weekend before Christmas, and I thought maybe you might like to come … if you haven't got any other plans.'

Mark beamed. ‘That would be great.'

‘Okay.' Chloe smiled. ‘It's a long drive, though, so we might have to stay a couple of nights for it to be worth it …'

‘Fine by me,' Mark agreed. ‘However, before that we need to think about tomorrow night. Shall I pick you up?'

‘No, don't do that,' Chloe demurred, knowing her place was far out of his way. ‘I'll meet you there.' She finished the last mouthful of sandwich and scrunched the paper bag into a ball. ‘I found a dress. I hope you'll like it.'

Mark smiled. ‘I'm sure I will.'

They grinned at one another for a moment, and Mark avoided dwelling on the sensation in his stomach as it began to churn once more.

Despite being the height of summer it was raining as they drove into Perth, the city's skyline forming an elegant iridescent backdrop to the wide Swan River. They found parkland on the southern bank of the river and got out of their vehicle to stretch their legs, revelling in the freshness of the rain, and laughing as water trickled into their eyes and ran off their noses.

Although the weather wasn't ideal, they couldn't resist driving a little further to the beach – neither of them had dipped their toes into the Indian Ocean before, and they were both keen to. It didn't take long to find Cottesloe, and they parked and ran down to the water in their shorts and T-shirts. By the time they reached the surf they were both laughing like maniacs. Alex's fringe was pipetting drops of water into his eyes, while Amy's long dark hair was plastered messily against her skull. Amy enthusiastically pushed
Alex as though she were going to propel him right into the sea. Her face was flushed and her nose was smattered with freckles. She looked beautiful, Alex thought as he watched her. She had no hope of beating him, though, and in one swift movement he had caught her up into his arms and run into the water until it was past his knees, and she was half-pretending to scream as he did a count to three, bobbing her up and down as though getting ready to release her. ‘No, Alex!' she cried, squeaking, laughing, looking down at the foamy sea. On the last lift he brought her up higher, and instead of letting her go, he leaned forward and went in for a long kiss. She wrapped her arms tighter around his neck as she responded.

He waded back out of the sea, with Amy light in his arms, and couldn't imagine feeling any happier than at that moment.

‘Life is just about perfect right now,' she said, grinning.

‘Bloody perfect,' he agreed, in his best Australian accent, pronouncing bloody as
bladdy
, making Amy's smile widen.

Back at the car they dried off as best they could with their beach towels. Alex wished they could stay and relax in the cafés along the beachfront road, but they still had some practical matters to attend to. The car needed to be returned to the hire company by mid-afternoon, so they worked their way through the traffic, with Amy directing and a fair few wrong turns in the city one-way system, before they reached the depot.

By the time they had made their way to the hostel and checked in to a familiar-looking featureless room with chipped-paint walls and drab bedding, the day had turned
dusky. They made themselves some dinner and chatted to fellow travellers, before falling into bed full of advice about places they should see, both aware that yet another precious day had slipped away, and longing to pack as much as possible into the short time they had left.

 

The next morning Alex was awake before Amy, and for a while he watched her sleeping face, the embodiment of peaceful contentment. He wondered what life would be like when they went home. Even though they were young, he loved her and could not imagine a day without her. Maybe he ought to propose, he thought, feeling an inordinate urge to wake her up and ask her right that minute. Perhaps he should find somewhere irresistibly romantic, go back to the beach where they had been yesterday and just do it. He smiled at himself for taking things so seriously. There would be plenty of time for all that later. He didn't know why he had this sudden desire to rush things.

He headed for the shower, and by the time he returned, Amy was not only awake but dressed in a vest top and short skirt, looking ready to go out.

‘Good morning,' he said, smiling at her then searching his belongings for something at least half-clean that he could wear. He picked out some shorts and a vest top, and grabbed a crumpled shirt to go over it.

‘Morning,' she smiled, planting a kiss on his lips. ‘Shall we go and find breakfast? I'm starving.'

They found a café along the main backpacker strip in Northbridge, and settled in for a morning feast. Now that they were going home in a week Alex felt freer to spend his remaining money, so he ordered the biggest breakfast on the menu and ate like a king. Amy managed to put away a similar amount, which always amazed him since she was half his size.

‘What do you want to do today?' he asked her as they stood at the counter waiting to pay for their meals. ‘The art gallery is just up there.' He made a hopeful gesture, but suspected he'd pushed his luck too far since he'd dragged Amy to numerous exhibitions already.

She rolled her eyes then smiled at him, and put her arms around his waist. ‘I don't know about that. Maybe something relaxing, like the beach – or perhaps we should do something active since we've been stuck in a car for the past week. That French guy last night mentioned those steps at Kings Park, though that sounds quite strenuous.' She paused, thinking. ‘Or maybe we should take one of those boats out, that sounded great fun – or the ferry and the zoo, that would be quite nice as well, though I'm never sure about zoos, but the Dutch couple said it was good, didn't they?'

He took his change from the waitress. ‘Blimey,' he said, stuffing it into his pocket. ‘Anything else?'

‘Probably,' Amy laughed, not letting go of his waist, her hands locked around him. ‘What do you think?' She rested her chin on his chest and peered up at him.

‘Maybe we should just go back to the hostel,' he grinned, stroking the small of her back, then propelling her in front of him towards the door of the café.

‘Well, we could, but that won't take all day!' she replied, laughing over her shoulder.

‘Oh really?' he said, grinning at her. ‘That's charming.'

She shook her head and rolled her eyes at him again, and they made their way along the pavement. Alex took her hand and it felt soft in his. He listened happily as she discussed plans and possibilities, making him laugh as she flitted from one idea to another. He played along, teasing her, watching her smile, until there was the sudden loud noise of a car engine, racing towards them at speed.

Chloe was nervous as she dressed for the evening. The dress looked good, but she felt like an impostor in it. She tried to view herself from the outside, as others might see her, but couldn't do it.

What was this block within her; this ever-present divide she felt between herself and everyone else, barely discernible, perhaps not obvious at all if you weren't Chloe, yet always there, impregnable, cutting her off? Where did it stem from?

She had felt more like this since Anthony's visit. He'd unsettled her. She ought to speak to her mother about him, but she still hoped she might quietly persuade him not to go to America. If Anthony found their father, then she might be forced to as well, and she didn't want to. Why was she so sure of that? What did she know that she couldn't remember?

She thought back to when she was young, scanning for
early memories. Her mother had, on a number of occasions, told a story about her husband Charlie and six-year-old Chloe at dinner parties, as part of her general repartee. It was about how when Charlie had first met Margaret he'd offered to pick Chloe up from school one day, had driven there, met an old friend in the car park, chatted, then driven home again, put his feet up and cracked open a beer or two, and it wasn't until Margaret got back with Anthony four hours later that she had questioned Charlie about Chloe's whereabouts.

Chloe was still at school. In the playground. In the dark. Uncollected. Unnoticed by teachers, as they drove off one by one. Staying hidden in the shadows rather than bringing herself to an adult's attention. Her mother told the story while shaking her head fondly at ‘hopeless' Charlie, and the implication was that Chloe was rather strange for allowing herself to remain abandoned like that. But although Chloe smiled along with it, she found various parts disconcerting – not least because she couldn't remember a bit of it. As a small child she'd sat alone in a darkening, empty yard for hours, quite possibly scared out of her wits, and yet her mind was a firm blank when she tried to recall it. But her mother swore the story was true; and Charlie had shamefacedly admitted it as well. So why had she stayed silent? Why had she been so scared of being found?

It was the same when she tried to think back on other things – in fact, much of her early life was just a haze. Was that how it was for everyone? Surely no one remembered that much of their formative years anyway. So why did Chloe feel as though she were missing something; some critical piece of
the jigsaw of her life, which when put into position would form a picture she could recognise?

She took a deep breath, looked at her watch, then checked herself in the mirror. Her appearance was good; and that was all she needed for today's big event.

She headed downstairs to wait for the taxi to arrive.