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“Jesus,” Juliette says, “why didn’t you tell us?”
He shrugs, but I know why. It doesn’t come easy to men to discuss their failures, and that’s how he’ll view it. And Henry is the most reticent of any of us.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispers.
He leans back on his hands, tilts his face up to the sun with his eyes closed, and sighs.
“That’s a reason to get drunk tonight if I’ve ever heard one,” James states, in an obvious attempt to change the subject. Tonight is Tyson’s stag night and Gaby’s hen night. They decided to hold them a couple of days before the wedding to give everyone an extra day to get over their hangovers.
“Definitely,” Tyson agrees.
“What about you?” I ask Juliette. “Are you bringing Cam to the wedding?” She’s been dating Cameron for a couple of years now. I used to think she and Henry were going to have a thing, but she was dating someone else when she started uni, and then Henry met Shaz, and I guess the timing just wasn’t right.
“Yeah,” she says. She glances at Henry, not volunteering any more information.
Alex clears his throat. “Well, we’d better be getting back.”
We all get to our feet and return to the boardroom, and things seem to return to normal as we get stuck back into the code. But I’m sure that the others, like me, are thinking about Henry’s revelation. I feel oddly upset by it. Only a few years ago we seemed so young and full of hope for the future, with the whole world at our fingertips. But even though we’re hardly old, we’ve all left broken relationships, disappointments, and failures in our wake, and we’re all different people from what we were back then.
I’m twenty-seven in a few weeks’ time. Again, hardly old, but not that young either.
It’s funny how sometimes you’re aware of the wheel of time turning. Days, months, years go by without you noticing, and then something shoves a stick in the spokes, and you come tumbling to the ground. It happened to me when Christian died. I was only ten, and I’d had a blissful childhood up to that point, surrounded by friends and family. I knew bad things happened to other people—accidents, illness, death—but that day in the sea cave was the first time I realized they could happen to me.
Oddly, maybe, it wasn’t the moment that Christian died that has haunted me ever since, maybe because I wasn’t the one who was looking into his eyes when it happened. My memory is of holding Kennedy in my arms, cradling her crushed arm. When the paramedics came, apparently I was covered in her blood, although I don’t remember that. I remember refusing to let her go, and in the end they let me go with her to the hospital, although Dad had to drag me away when they took her into surgery.
For those first few months, she was the first thought in my head when I awoke, and the last before I fell asleep at night. Mum and Dad were worried about all three of us—Saxon, Kip, and me—but I know that for a while they were especially concerned about me. I moved through the days like a ghost, and even when Kennedy came home and was clearly recovering, the memory of that day continued to haunt me.
It still does. It got better, of course, because the phrase ‘time heals’ is a cliché for a reason. Kennedy is fine now, and sometimes days go by without us talking. I’m not consumed by shock and grief the way I was when it happened.
But when something like this happens—learning that Henry’s marriage has broken up, and that he can’t have kids—the first thing I think of is that day in the sea cave, and the hot, raw grief I felt for so long afterward.
For the first time in a while, I miss being at home, in my studio. I bought the house because I fell in love with it. It’s huge with high ceilings, and the previous owner used it as a dance studio. There are mirrors on one wall, and the north-facing wall is all glass, so it’s full of sunlight. I use it for painting, and have several easels set up with various pieces of work on the go, and a large architect’s table that Kip bought me for Christmas one year that I adore. It’s what Kennedy would call my happy place, where I put on music or a podcast and then immerse myself in the application of the paints onto the canvas. I don’t think while I’m painting, and sometimes that lack of thought is just what I need.
But I’ve work to do, and a few days to go, so I get stuck into the coding, and decide that tonight I’m going to get drunk with the guys, and hopefully that will help me forget myself.
*
Belle
The kids’ party finishes at five p.m. Today the birthday girl was six years old, and she’d requested a fairy party. I provided a fairy outfit for the girl to wear, told fairy stories while I did lots of fairy-inspired magic to illustrate the tale, got them singing and dancing with ribbons and bubbles, and gave them sparkly handmade necklaces I’d made out of polymer clay beads that I baked in the oven and painted. They all told me they’d had an amazing time, and I left with a big tip from the mum who’d enjoyed handing over control of the eight girls for an hour and a half, and her promise to recommend me to all her friends.
Buzzing from the event, I drive the short distance across town to Kia Kaha, park out the front, and go inside. The building is one of my favorite places to be—I love the light and airy atmosphere, and the way the pale wood furniture complements the rich green plants throughout the offices. The painting of Ranginui and Papatuanuku that hangs on one wall is absolutely beautiful. Papatuanuku lies on her back, her hair and breasts and body forming the country’s hills and valleys. Rangi hovers above her, forming the blue sky and the heavens, his hair and beard filled with stars. I keep meaning to ask Alex who painted it—some local artist, I’m guessing.
“Hey, Rebecca,” I say to the young woman at reception. “I’m here to pick up Juliette.”
“She’s in the boardroom with the others,” she says.
I sign the register and press my visitor’s sticker to my tee. “Thanks!” Giving her a smile, I head through the building to the large boardroom that overlooks the River Avon.
As I approach, my heart skips a beat at the sight of someone standing looking out at the river. It’s Damon, and I slow, then stop walking, staring at his profile for a moment. He’s wearing a suit, which isn’t surprising considering he’s at work, but I haven’t seen him in one for a long time. It’s navy blue and I think it has a thin pinstripe, and it’s British cut: tight, stiff, and formal, almost military-like, with a crisp white shirt and a light-blue tie. Like most of the guys I know, his hair is cut in a neat taper fade, but whereas the last few times I’ve seen him the longer hair on top has been ruffled ‘bed hair’, today he’s combed it back neatly, making him look smart and professional.
Wow, he looks hot.
As I study his face, though, I think that he also looks sad. Hmm.
I approach the boardroom, and as the door automatically opens to admit me, he looks around, and everyone else at the table looks up.
“Evening all,” I say, going into the room. “Up the workers!”
