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“He’s got that cottage on the beach, the one you used to live in years ago. It’s a bit rundown, but he said that if I renovate it, I can live there rent free for as long as I like. He’s giving me a budget to work with and everything.”
“You’re going to move out to Coral Island, in the middle of nowhere, to live as a beach bum?” Bea’s head throbbed, and she rubbed her temple with her fingers.
“It’s not the middle of nowhere, Mum. You grew up there—you should know that. And yes, I’m going to be a beach bum for a while. There are worse things. Besides, I’ll get a job and earn my keep. With free rent, that should be easy enough to manage. In the meantime, I’ll renovate the cottage and think about what I want to do with my life. I might even be able to save up the money to travel to Europe before I go back to university.”
“If you have to catch a ferry or a plane to get somewhere, it’s the middle of nowhere. Trust me.”
“You’re not seeing the big picture, Mum.”
Bea shook her head. This was too much. Her daughter had been top of her class at one of the most prestigious private schools in Sydney. Both Bea and Preston had been disappointed when Dani had decided to study social work, a degree that didn’t have a high-level entry requirement, when she could’ve gotten into anything she chose. But they’d been proud that she wanted to do something to help those who needed it most.
Now she’d spend her days painting a rundown shack in a bikini. Bea had to talk to Preston — he’d convince Dani it was a bad idea. He had a talent for bringing people around to his way of thinking. But of course, there was the little issue of the divorce to contend with. Perhaps he wouldn’t care what his daughter did now that he had a brand-new family.
“Fine. I can see you’re not going to budge on this, and I have a splitting headache plus a house that looks as though it was part of some kind of global war. So, I’m going to let it go for now. But we’ll talk about this again soon. Okay?”
Danita laughed. “Okay, Mum. Whatever you like. Although if you want to reach me before I leave, I’m taking the ferry to the island in three months. I’ve got to finish the current semester plus my job at the library and tie up some loose ends, pack my things on campus, and so on. I’m sure we’ll see each other before I go.”
“Let’s talk soon. I love you.”
She hung up the phone, then leaned her forehead on the cool marble bench with a groan. At least Harry was still happily ensconced in his first semester at university. He was studying science with the intention of moving into medicine.
She clearly remembered the first time he’d said he wanted to be a doctor. She’d found him giving CPR to a dead magpie, dragged into the house by their cat, when he was five years old. He’d turned to her with that solemn look he got when he was doing something he cared about and told her he’d chosen his future career, even though the bird didn’t make it.
She could cling to the fact that Harry was living up to his potential and not giving up everything they’d worked towards, like his sister, or tearing their family apart, like his father. She surveyed the damage. Then with her head held high, she got to work cleaning up the mess.
Three
The next fewweeks passed quickly and in a haze of anguish, delirium and denial. Bea wandered between her engagements baking cakes for a function at the high school, volunteering at the local RSPCA and helping organise and run a fundraiser for the Rotary Youth Club to send several students on international exchange the following year.
She’d always been a joiner—had participated in civic programs for years. There was nothing she loved more than to give back to her community. Having grown up on Coral Island, where the lifestyle was centred around lazing on the beach and finding the best fishing spot, she’d embraced the city and its rapid pace.
But after Preston’s announcement, she couldn’t find the enthusiasm she needed to enjoy any of it. All she could think was that it was futile. None of it mattered. If the person who was supposed to love her most in the world could discard her at a moment’s notice, why bother volunteering, or baking, or doing anything, really?
She pretended to be fine for the sake of the kids. Clearly Preston hadn’t spoken to them, and she was avoiding telling them what he’d done. She knew they’d be angry with him, but deep down inside, some part of her worried they’d blame her as well. He was the fun one, the parent who always took them to eat junk food or see the movie she’d told them wasn’t appropriate. She was the killjoy. That’s how she imagined they described her, anyway.
She organised every aspect of their childhood, she made the meals, packed the lunchboxes, washed and ironed the uniforms and cleaned the house. She didn’t have time for all the fun activities at the end of the day. She was still too busy vacuuming and folding laundry.
They’d side with him and blame her. She could hear it now. Partly because she couldn’t help blaming herself. Even though she knew logically that made no sense. It took two people to keep the spark going in a relationship. Both of them had fallen short in that department over the years. Not without good reason, of course — life was difficult, busy and demanding. At the end of the day, neither one of them had much left — energy, affection, desire. But if the children sided with their father — the man who’d had an affair and left her to raise his new family right when they were supposed to be enjoying the golden era after all that hard work — she wasn’t sure her tender heart could take it.
One morning after she’d put on workout gear in order to exercise in the home gym, but instead ended up watching a rerun ofEllenslumped against the front of the treadmill while she ate giant handfuls of potato chips and cried over a child prodigy who played the violin so beautifully she was certain angels were singing, her phone rang.
She’d taken to screening calls, which wasn’t at all like her. She was usually the life of the party, always ready for a conversation, happy to talk to anyone at any time of the day or night. Her friends knew that if they picked up the phone and told her they were having a bad day, she’d drop everything to bake them a chocolate gateau with cherry fondant and bring it right over to talk.
“Hello,” she muttered around a mouthful of crisps.
“Bea, it’s Preston. You sound strange. Are you okay?”
She swallowed and climbed off the treadmill. “I’m working out in the gym. What is it?”
“I need to talk to you about the house.”
“What about the house?” She opened the back door so Fudge, her five-year-old pug, could go outside to pee.
“I’m going to sell it.”
Her eyes widened. “You can’t sell it. I live here.”
“I know, and I feel terrible about that. But the problem is that I want to buy a new place in Melbourne.”
