When I Lost You: A Gripping, Heart Breaking Novel of Lost Love. (9 page)

F
riday was
a day devoted entirely to anticipation. By the time I headed to Circular Quay to meet Molly, I felt as though I’d been waiting a very long time to see her again, although it was actually less than twenty-four hours.

I took a seat at the
bar where I could keep an eye on the door and ordered some water as I surveyed the place. It was, as I’d expected, an exorbitantly priced restaurant. But there were cosy booths and tea-light candles on the tables and folksy music playing in the background; this was a place constructed for intimate dinners. I could forgive the pretentious nature of the establishment given the unmistakable message Molly had sent with her choice of venue.

I looked at the door just as she entered, and saw her scanning the room, looking for me. She was wearing a soft pink dress with delicate folds across the front. The skirt fell to her knees, the neckline was high, and the sleeves were elbow-length. There was nothing at all seductive about her attire, but there didn’t need to be – I would have been equally captivated had she stepped through the door wearing a hessian sack and gumboots.

‘Ms Torrington, lovely to see you,’ the waitress approached her as I did, and after a quick glance at me, returned her attention to Molly. ‘Your booth is ready.’

‘Hello, Molly,’ I said quietly.

‘Hi, Leo,’ she smiled back at me almost shyly, and we followed the waitress to the table. Molly slid into the booth and I followed her but sat opposite her – I wanted to keep my thoughts clear.

It had occurred to me as we flirted the previous night that Molly had met every challenge I’d issued head-on. I was confident that I knew how to speak to women – I’d had plenty of chances to hone my dating game to a fine art over the years – but I might just have met my match in Molly Torrington. The challenge she presented was enthralling.

‘I’ve been thinking about you a lot this week,’ I said, as soon as we were seated. ‘And you have
been thinking a lot about me.’

She stared back at me, unfazed. ‘Oh, I
have
, have I?’ she laughed softly.

‘You have. If you hadn’t, you wouldn’t have worn that dress.’

‘Why? What’s wrong with my dress?’ she glanced down at herself and frowned at me.

‘It’s beautiful. And so are you.’

‘Well, what did you mean, then?’

‘I bet when you pulled on that dress tonight, you were thinking about the look I’d have on my face when I saw you walk in here.’

‘You are awfully cocky, Leo Stephens,’ she raised an eyebrow at me. ‘And actually, that wasn’t what I was thinking,’ she added pointedly. I looked at her questioningly, and she leant forward and said softly, ‘When I pulled this dress on earlier, I was thinking a lot more about the look I’ll see on your face if I decide to let you take it off later.’

The image she’d painted was so vivid that my mind completely shut down. For a moment or two I stared at her blankly, then cleared my throat and shifted in the seat as I said unevenly, ‘Now who’s being cocky?’

Molly shrugged and picked up the wine list as if we’d just been discussing the weather.

‘I’d like to remind you that
you
started this conversation. White or red?’

I was still trying to re-engage my brain. ‘Lady’s choice. How’s your day been?’

‘It’s been good. Productive. And yours?’

‘Peaceful,’ I said. ‘I convinced my physiotherapist to let me get back to work on Monday, although I’m not cleared to head back to Libya yet, but at least I’ll be able to start writing up the story I was working on.’

‘Congratulations,’ she said, and put the menu down. ‘I’ll order bubbles then, since we’re celebrating again.’

We ordered drinks and our meals, and I told her about the Libyan article I was planning and she told me about the acquisition she’d just completed.

That night I was so captivated by Molly that even her business talk about takeovers was fascinating. I tried to understand what it must be like to work in a demanding, high-pressure job like hers and to pursue success that she didn’t actually want or need.

For me my work was everything: it was my reason for breathing. Molly had to work just as hard as I did – maybe even harder – but at the end of the day, every minute she spent in that role she was effectively giving over to Laith. I was surprised by how much that bothered me. I knew it was none of my business, and I was generally well-accustomed to turning from any urge to solve other people’s problems – that was a necessary skill in my work. But this was Molly, and although I barely knew her, I felt sure she deserved better.

‘Where is our meal?’ Molly asked suddenly. ‘I always lose track of time when I’m talking to you,’ she murmured, and then looked around. A waitress hurried over to us. ‘We ordered almost an hour ago…’

‘I’m so sorry, Ms Torrington,’ she said, ‘There’s been a staffing issue in the kitchen. Your meals are on their way, but it might be another ten or fifteen minutes. I’ll organise another bottle of wine on the house as a small token of our apology.’

When the waitress left, Molly glanced at me and said, ‘I do come here fairly often, so I’m sure the free wine isn’t because she recognised me and feared the Torrington dynasty falling on her head if she delayed my food.’

‘Doesn’t a place like this lose its appeal if you come often?’ I raised my hand and waved generally towards the view. ‘Surely overexposure just makes it too familiar?’

‘It’s like a family member you really like, or a favourite piece of furniture. You still like them even if you see them every day, right?’

I stared at her blankly. If I could have forgotten for even one second just how vastly different our worlds were, there it was.

‘Did you really just refer to a Michelin-rated restaurant as a “favourite piece of furniture”?’

‘My apartment is a sixty-second walk from here. The food is fantastic. Why
wouldn’t
I come regularly?’

‘Because you’ve taken something exceptional and made it everyday.’

‘Or, am I just lucky enough to be in a position that the exceptional
is
my everyday?’

I paused, and then frowned as I considered her words. ‘Your apartment is a sixty-second walk from here? You don’t. . . tell me you don’t live in “the toaster”.’

‘It’s actually named “The Bennelong Apartments”, Leo,’ She laughed at the popular nickname I’d used for one of the wealthiest addresses in Sydney. The building did look like a giant toaster, plunked unceremoniously among the city’s most famous landmarks. ‘I take it by that haughty tone that you’re not a fan of it.’

‘It’s an eyesore,’ I winced. ‘I remember back when you could see all the way from Circular Quay down to the Botanic Gardens. That building completely changed the tone of the gateway to the city.’

‘When you say things like that, you make yourself sound quite old,’ Molly remarked, and she grinned at me. ‘A lot of people disliked that building in the nineties when it was built, but you’re the first person I’ve heard express such hatred for it recently. Now that it’s been around for a while no one really cares anymore. And yes, I live in the Bennelong Apartments – it’s a great place to live.’

‘Is there even a sense of community in a place like that? That’s what I love most about Redfern,’ I said suddenly. Molly’s face twisted a little – my comment had offended her. Right then, the waitress returned with the second bottle of wine, which she presented with grand aplomb. When she left, I raised an eyebrow at Molly. ‘I believe you were about to make some snobbish comment about Redfern?’

‘I just – it’s…’ I rather enjoyed watching her flounder for words, but after a moment, she looked at me and said with an easy shrug, ‘I am not a snob, but that area doesn’t have a very good reputation, does it?’

I leant back as I surveyed her. ‘I grew up in Redfern. I went to a public primary school then high school there, and that was long before all of the trendy parts popped up.’

‘You said that last night, but I’m still not sure there are trendy parts,’ she said. At this I sighed, and she muttered hastily, ‘Sorry.’

‘Next time we meet,’ I said suddenly. ‘We meet on my turf.’

‘Don’t you feel unsafe there?’

‘
Unsafe
?’ I repeated incredulously.

‘I mean, there are so many…’

‘Filthy poor people? Or do you mean filthy black people?’ Now my hackles were up and my comment was snarkier than it was playful.

‘Well,
no
, of course not – just…’

‘Molly,’ I interrupted her, because I couldn’t bear another second of her uncomfortable back-pedalling, ‘you do realise that more than half my career has been reporting from war zones? Are you really asking me if I feel unsafe in an inner-city suburb of
Sydney
? Redfern is a wonderful community. There’s a rich heritage there, cultural and physical. My neighbour is an eighty-something woman who still lives in the house where she was born. At my gym the community comes together every weeknight to donate meals to kids to make sure they have good nutrition after they work out. Yes, there have been some problems and yes, there are a lot of underprivileged families, but the underprivileged families are not the problem – they never are.’

Molly’s intense focus on my rant was flattering, but when I finally stopped talking, she tilted her head to the side and said quietly, ‘You should go into politics.’

‘I wouldn’t last ten seconds on the campaign trail.’

‘True. Your controversial and antiquated views on “the toaster” building would offend too many wealthy people,’ she laughed.

I glanced around. The waitress was looking towards us, but she was empty-handed and visibly nervous. She kept glancing at Molly, as if she was likely to throw a tantrum any second. I wondered if Molly was generally a difficult patron or if it was just her family’s reputation that made the waitress so anxious.

I looked back at Molly and found she was staring at me. Our eyes locked and the moment stretched and intensified; neither of us seemed capable of looking away. The world seemed to have paused all around us, and only picked up again when another diner brushed past us on his way to a table.

We hadn’t even had our first course yet, but I already wanted to touch her – take her hand, or touch her face, her hair. She smoothed her fringe across her forehead. I was already familiar with the gesture but I hadn’t figured out yet how to interpret it.

‘So, you grew up in Redfern,’ she said suddenly. ‘Is your mum still there?’

‘She lives in Alexandria now, with my step-father – although I don’t actually call him a “step” father,’ I said. ‘He is just my dad – he’s earned the title.’

‘That’s nice.’

‘He’s an incredible human being.’

‘Do you have siblings?’

‘Just the one – my sister Teresa; she and her husband Paul live at Cronulla. She keeps telling me she’s the favourite child at the moment because she’s going to give them a grandchild at last. She’s probably right.’

‘Are you the eldest?’

‘Yes, Teresa is quite a bit younger than me; she’s only twenty-nine. She’s a beautician; her husband is a graphic designer.’

‘Quite a bit younger,’ Molly repeated, and she laughed. ‘She’s the same age as me. How old are you?’

‘I’m thirty-eight,’ I admitted.

‘Jesus, you’re
ancient
!’ she feigned horror. I laughed reluctantly. ‘Seriously, thirty-eight and not even retired yet. That’s remarkable. Is it some kind of world record?’ she said cheerfully. I sank back into my seat and stared at my wine, processing this. It wasn’t an outrageous age gap, but it was still the widest I’d dealt with in any woman I’d gone out with. ‘Well, who cares if you’re a senior citizen?’

‘I’m so sorry for the wait,’ the waitress was back, but this time she was carrying our main courses. Her eyes were swimming with tears and her hands shook as she set Molly’s plate down first. Molly opened her mouth – I knew immediately that she was going reproach the waitress because we hadn’t yet had our entrées. I leant towards her and tapped her wrist gently with my hand. She shot me a confused glance, but only murmured a quiet thanks to the waitress as she left.

‘She’s having a pretty bad night,’ I whispered, as soon as she left us. ‘Give the kid a break; she’s already close to tears.’

Molly looked back at the waitress, who had immediately moved to a booth further along the wall, where some other frustrated diners were now loudly expressing their disappointment at their delayed meals.

‘I should have noticed that,’ she said, a deep frown crossing her face. ‘I don’t mean to be hard on people. What is it they say about familiarity breeding contempt?’

‘You live a pretty unique existence,’ I said, and I smiled at her. ‘Not many people think of Circular as a suitable venue for a quick after-work dinner but I have to say, in spite of the delay, this meal is amazing.’

And it was – the food was exquisite – both of our dishes were a culinary work of art. As we each finished eating, I reached for the carafe of water at the same moment Molly did, and our hands collided awkwardly. I withdrew mine automatically and felt almost guilty, as if the accidental contact might have happened through sheer force of will on my behalf. It struck me that Molly had also pulled her hand back. I gazed at her face, expecting to see awkwardness or embarrassment, but I only saw the same quickening that I felt running riot within myself. Even in the dim light of the restaurant I could see that her eyes had darkened somewhat. She was staring at me with an open, unashamed hunger.

Her hand was on the table, away from the carafe but resting near her cutlery. I now moved my own very slowly across the table. She watched its passage, and I sensed her holding her breath. Millimetre by millimetre I brought my hand closer, and then carefully brushed the back of my forefinger all the way along the top of hers, from her fingernail down to the back of her hand. When I reached her wrist, I curled my fingers away from hers, leaving our hands just touching.

I was giving her the chance to pull her hand away, but I knew she wouldn’t take it – what I was really doing was prolonging the delicious tension and anticipation that had been humming between us all night. Although it had been a simple movement, in no way could it be misconstrued. Our gazes locked again and there was only us, and only that moment – a
first
moment of brutal, unspoken honesty between us.