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And I see the Mitsubishi again, parked at the end of the street. My heart flies up to my throat as I back away. I make out the silhouette of someone in the driver’s seat, and I’m definitely not imagining the feel of their eyes on me. ‘No,’ I breathe, blinking away the sudden bombardment of familiar feelings. Fear. Anxiety. Dread.
My feet get caught in something, and I trip and stumble, crashing into the toffee apple stall, sending things flying everywhere. But I can’t tear my terrified stare away from that truck. It’s just sitting there, almost threateningly. Then the headlights flash a couple of times, as if the driver is acknowledging that I’ve seen him, and I retch. The happy noise around me fades and all I can hear is every single nasty thing he ever yelled at me. My surroundings start to spin.
‘No.’ I turn and run, staggering and tripping as I go and falling through the door of my shop clumsily, locking it behind me. ‘No,’ I sob, shaking my head, as if I can shake myself from this nightmare.
He’s found me.Chapter 27RYAN
I swing the mallet with as much force as I can, smacking the target on a grunt, and the ball shoots up the shaft and smacks the bell, earning me a few cheers. ‘Piece of cake.’ I drop the mallet and brush off my hands, ready for the next game.
‘Young whippersnapper,’ Father Fitzroy grumbles, entering my name in chalk at the top of the scoreboard. My chest puffs out. It’s childish, I realize, but I’m having fun being champion of everything.
I look back to where all the easels are set up for Hannah, hoping she’s seeing me annihilating the competition. I pout to myself when I don’t find her, and head to that end of the street to track her down.
‘Hey, Dad!’ Alex yells, and I look back, seeing her ready to climb the steps to the stage. It’s my girl’s turn to prance up and down and be assessed by the townspeople. She pulls that ridiculous dress out and twirls for me, rolling her eyes as she does. ‘You’re coming to watch, aren’t you?’
I look back toward where the artists are painting, still seeing no Hannah. Where is she? ‘Of course,’ I say, reversing my steps, making my way to the foot of the stage just as Darcy’s father speaks. ‘And now, ladies and gentlemen, the ravishing, and incredibly intelligent, might I add, Alexandra Hampton-Willis!’
The crowd cheers, and I join them, clapping my hands as my Cabbage struts across the stage dramatically, like she could be on a catwalk. I chuckle as her grandfather continues to sell her, detailing her grades, her passions, and her strong lineage. ‘Crock of shit,’ I mutter, listening to him harp on about her talent with a violin. She fucking hates the violin. I cast my eyes back again, looking for Hannah. She should be here. She should be seeing this.
‘She’ll win, of course,’ Darcy says as she swoops in to my side, smiling proudly at Alex as she claps. ‘Woohoo for Alexandra!’
Alex gives her mum the death stare, her little nostrils flaring.
‘You’re embarrassing her,’ I say.
‘No, I’m not.’
‘It’s actually a novelty to see her squirm.’ I raise my hands and clap, too, then belt out an ear-piercing whistle. ‘Go on, Cabbage!’ Her face is a picture of horror, and I grin at her. It’s payback for her little stunt this morning.
Darcy giggles, her hand covering her mouth. That’s a novelty, too. ‘All right?’ I ask, and she looks at me, all bashful and . . . flirty? I’m immediately wary. She looked at me like this recently, and the next minute she wanted to cook me supper.
She bats her lashes, toying with a lock of her hair.
Oh no.
‘Darcy . . .’ I stretch her name out, taking one step back away from her, worried she’s going to pounce at me any minute. She closes the gap, and I hold my hands up, warning her back. ‘No,’ I say assertively, aware that I’m about to get either a mouthful of abuse or a face full of her palm. ‘It’s never going to happen.’
It must be the tone of my voice, or maybe the resolution on my face, but she backs off, her face falling. ‘I just thought . . .’ She fades, looking across to Alex on the stage.
‘What, that we’d pick up where we left off eleven years ago?’ Does she need a reminder of what actually happened that night, because as far as I remember, it consisted of lots of alcohol and a quick wham-bam. There were no fireworks. There was no passion. We were both scratching an itch. Or at least, I was. ‘Darcy, we have nothing in common.’
‘Well, we do have something in common.’
I look at Alex, who is still parading up and down, but her attention is straight on us. Her parents. Talking. She looks worried. She should be. I force a smile onto my face to reassure her, coughing my throat clear. ‘Darcy, I respect you, I care for you, but only as my daughter’s mother. You don’t want me.’ Does she?
